More Than Our Scars
by AlkalineTeegan
Summary: Casefic with ensemble cast. A serial killer is on the loose, and the consequences of this case will be far-reaching, particularly for one member of Team Gibbs. Rated T for language and violence. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is the next in my little borrowed NCIS universe, and it follows "Just tell me your name" and "Not here, not now." I own nothing. Warnings for language and a plot focused around rapes and murders. There will be drug use later on, so beware that, as well. Enjoy!

**********

"Grab your gear," Gibbs barked. "We've got another one."

"God_damn_it!"

The curse, the tone, the uncharacteristic outburst from the normally calm Mossad officer reflected the frustration evident in the entire team. This was the third body in as many days.

The first had shown up on Halloween.

"Let me guess," DiNozzo said, no sarcasm in his voice, only weariness. "Female Marine, beaten, raped and strangled?"

Gibbs nodded even though they all knew what was coming when that phone rang. The first had been Sgt. Camilla Sanders, the second Cpl. Andrea McCormick, a day later. Both women had been badly beaten, raped and manually strangled. They had no leads. There were no fingerprints, nothing under the victims' nails, no hairs, a single black fiber—likely from a generic ski mask, and as DiNozzo had said, "Only about a million people buy ski masks in the weeks leading up to Halloween." Phone records revealed no common contacts; financials revealed no common bars, restaurants or shops. The only links were the women's gender and that they were Marines stationed at Quantico. Neither victim was married, but both had family in the area. Interviews revealed nothing but normal Marines: loyal, dedicated, determined.

As the agents drove toward the crime scene—off base, again—DiNozzo broke the silence. "What's the costume this time?"

"Fairy," was Gibbs' terse response.

The first victim had been dressed as a princess. The second was an angel.

"There _has _to be something there," Ziva said. "Someone had to notice a grown man buying women's costumes."

"We've been over this, Ziva," DiNozzo said, but his voice was gentle. She was taking this case hard, and Tony knew that the rapes and beatings of otherwise strong women were getting to her. "The costumes aren't store-bought. If he buys the pieces individually, no one would put it all together into the final product."

"But he's making them into little girls," Ziva said, staring out the window, unable to hide her frustration and shamed by that fact. "Why?"

"Power, control," Tony said absently. "These are still rape cases, no matter how much he tries to distract us with the costumes."

They were silent as Gibbs parked the car at the edge of the back road in the middle of nowhere. "Who the hell found the body way out here?" DiNozzo asked.

"Jogger with his dog," Gibbs replied, nodding in the distraught man's direction. Gibbs dismissed the local police while McGee interviewed the man.

Tony walked up behind Ziva, who was staring down at the body of the woman dressed as a fairy. He put gentle hands on her shaking shoulders. "Hey."

Ziva shocked him by turning and burying her face in his shoulder. He could feel her hot tears on his skin, and for once, he was at a loss for what to say. Ziva did not just fall apart. He held her for a moment, knowing Gibbs and McGee were probably staring at them. He could feel their eyes on his back so he held Ziva at arm's length. As quickly as they had appeared, the tears were gone. All he saw in her eyes was a fiery determination. He almost felt bad for the scum they were pursuing—almost.

"I am sorry," she said, wiping at the wet spot on his jacket.

"Don't be," he said, looking into her pretty brown eyes. "It's okay to be human."

She smiled faintly at that and then turned to finish shooting photos of the dead woman. DiNozzo heard Ducky's van pull up as he squatted beside the body. The flashes from Ziva's camera flicked across a pretty face with dark hair. Even the livid bruises littering the smooth young skin couldn't hide the beauty of the woman. DiNozzo reached down and brushed a strand of nearly black hair off the victim's face.

He suddenly stood and shouted, "Ducky! Get over here, now!"

"She's not going anywhere, my dear boy," the doctor said sadly.

"I wouldn't let her hear you say that," DiNozzo yelled, drawing looks from the group. "She's alive!"

***

Tony leaned down and started to reach out to the injured woman. She came fully awake at his gentle touch with an ear-splitting shriek. Her right hand swept out with a strength that surprised him. Without thinking, he reacted and caught her wrist before her fist connected with his face. She shrieked again and scrambled up on all fours, the hate in her eyes making Tony wince. He immediately dropped her hand. He'd let her hit him if it took an ounce of pain out of her pretty, bruised features.

"Easy," he said, watching her breathe hard and knowing that it was hurting her. "I'm a federal agent. I'm not going to hurt you."

Tony stood slowly, backing away with hands raised in surrender. He tossed a glance over his shoulder and saw Ducky approaching slowly, as he would a skittish colt. The fear in the woman's eyes was tearing him in half and Tony was immensely grateful for Ducky's gentle, calming presence. Tony saw that McGee had been slowly approaching from behind the woman, and he was about to tell the Probie to keep his distance when the woman turned and collapsed into the younger agent's arms.

Tony watched McGee hold the woman, whispering softly and stroking her hair, and suddenly pictured Tim comforting Sarah like this. The flash of jealousy and sadness wasn't surprising, but it was unwelcome. Tony pushed it aside and watched McGee convince the woman to let Ducky look her over.

"Can you tell me your name, dear?" Ducky asked, eyeing the woman's bruised neck but not touching.

"Morgan," she whispered, still wrapped in the warm safety of McGee's embrace. "Morgan Kessler. My ID is in my boot. He said he needed me to leave it there so when they found—" Her weak voice broke and she sniffled, but went on with a steely determination. "When they found my body, they'd call the right authorities."

Ducky sighed. "Oh, my poor girl. Let's get you off this cold, wet ground and to a hospital, all right?"

"No," she rasped. "I don't need a hospital. I need to do whatever they need me to to find this sick, twisted son of a bitch."

"We'll need to take a statement," McGee said, surprised at how un-awkward he felt with a beautiful, broken woman in his arms. "But I can go with you to the hospital and take it there."

Gibbs nodded from where he was watching a few feet away. "Take your time, McGee. What's your rank, Ms. Kessler?"

"Lance corporal," Kessler answered as McGee helped her to her feet. She leaned her smallish frame heavily against him and was glad for the solidity she felt in his embrace.

DiNozzo and Gibbs exchanged a look as Ducky followed McGee and Kessler to the van. Ziva was confused by the look until Tony said, "Sergeant, Corporal, Lance Corporal. Does that mean there're two victims left?" He saw Ziva's confusion and added, "He's descending in rank so that leaves a PFC and a private."

"We'll know in two more days, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled, headed back to the truck, "unless we find him first."

***

McGee paced the hospital hallway, intellectually knowing what Morgan was going through in the examination room but understanding that he would probably never really _know_ what the woman was going through.

"Agent McGee?"

McGee turned to the nurse who had called his name.

"You can see her now."

McGee fought a sigh and wondered what he was doing here. Gibbs should be the one interviewing this poor, broken, wounded woman. Or Ziva—she was, after all, also a woman. Hell, even Tony would probably be better at this, if for no other reason than that he was a cop for long enough to have done this a thousand times. But then McGee remembered the way Morgan had clung to him. He couldn't say why, but he felt like he owed her something. Maybe it was just the fact that he was ashamed to be male at this moment. At any rate, he was here, no one else.

"Morgan?"

He stopped cold at the sight of her, bruised and broken in such a vital way, and yet somehow, _smiling_ a tiny little smile at him. _I'm going to kill this son of a bitch when I find him._

"Is it okay if I call you Morgan?"

She nodded, and he realized how painful it must be for her to speak because of the near strangulation. He pulled out a digital recorder. "I need to tape this interview. Is that all right with you?"

She nodded again.

"I'm sorry," he said, meaning it. "But you'll have to answer that out loud. Can you do that?"

"Yes," she whispered. "And yes, you can record it."

He smiled and sat on the bed beside her, getting close with the recorder so she wouldn't have to strain too much. He noted with a flash of some emotion he couldn't place that she didn't flinch away from his closeness as she had with Tony.

"Normally, I would ask you to start at the beginning, but because of your throat, can you tell me anything about your attacker?"

She frowned at him and he wondered how he had managed to screw up already. _I really wish Gibbs were here._

"Agent McGee," she rasped out against the damage.

"It's Tim, please," McGee said, not caring that he was interrupting. It hurt him to hear her talk; he couldn't imagine what it was like for her.

"Tim," she said, whispering again and he held the recorder closer to her. She surprised him by reaching up and taking the recorder from him. Her voice was low but strong when she spoke. "I don't need special treatment. I'll start from the beginning."

He smiled a little at her courage and nodded.

"I owe it to Sgt. Sanders and Andrea. And all the women on base. We're Marines, Tim, and someone is targeting us. I won't let them down because it hurts to talk."

"Did you know Andrea McCormick?"

She nodded, then remembered the recorder in her bruised hands. "Yes. Not well. Just to say 'hi' to when I saw her around. I didn't know Sgt. Sanders at all."

McGee nodded, encouraging her to go on.

"I went for a run last night. Stupid, I know, to go at night when some sicko is targeting Marine women and everyone is talking about it on base. But I was on base and they found the others off base so I thought I was safe."

McGee's eyes widened a bit. The other two victims were found off base so they had assumed they were attacked off base. "That narrows our suspect pool by a lot, Morgan. Thank you."

She gave him that brave little smile again, and he noticed again how beautiful and young she was.

"So anyway, I was running, and then all of sudden I wasn't. He must have been hiding behind a tree along the trail because he came out of nowhere just like that. His hand was over my mouth and his arms around me in an instant. He dragged me back into the woods and—"

She stopped, wiping tears from her bruised face. She took a deep breath, winced, and continued. "He raped me," she said simply. She sighed. "Wow. Three little words. And I could write a book about everything I felt and everything that went through my head. But that's not going to help you find him. He was wearing gloves and a mask. He used a condom. His eyes are brown and he's got a medium build. No tattoos… that I could see. Once I realized he was wearing a mask, I just shut my eyes."

McGee marveled at her matter-of-fact tone and wondered if he would have been calm enough under pressure to recall what she had.

"He started choking me and I thought I was dead so I played dead," she said, frowning. Then she lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug. "I guess he bought it because here I am. Next thing I know, I'm waking up at my own murder scene. I can't tell you anything about the car he must have moved me in. I don't remember leaving the base."

McGee frowned, hearing and not liking the detached quality in her voice. But he just said, "Odd that the guards or the dogs didn't notice a car leaving with a body in the trunk."

"Not really," she said, flinching at being called a "body." "They pay attention to people coming in, not out."

McGee nodded. "Is there anything else? Anyone you could think of that would want to hurt you?"

She paused, then sighed. "I'm not special, Tim. I'm just the latest victim of this psycho."

The hollowness in her voice tore at him and he wanted to hug her. "Victim? Believe me, Morgan, I've interviewed a lot of victims. You're not one."

Tears slipped down her face at his gentle, kind words, and she scooted closer to him. He opened his arms and held her, the motion as natural as anything he'd ever felt.


	2. Chapter 2

"Take her to the safe house, McGee. I'll send someone to relieve you later tonight."

Gibbs hung up the phone and set it down on his desk with a sharp thump. He looked around the bullpen and frowned. They had nothing. Even with another victim, there were no connections. He watched Ziva struggle to stay calm and not scream at whomever she was on the phone with. He watched DiNozzo practically vibrating in his seat, and Gibbs knew it was the lack of leads causing his distress.

"I can't just sit here," DiNozzo said suddenly, standing and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Then do something," Gibbs spat, even though he had no idea what to do, either. He some dark emotion flit through his senior agent's eyes, but it was gone before he could identify it.

"I could…" DiNozzo sighed heavily. "I can't do shit that we haven't already done. Our suspects are a base full of Marines, and we have nothing. Maybe we should round up all the female PFCs on base and keep 'em under lock and key. Spoil this sick, twisted scumbag's plans."

"You done?" Gibbs asked caustically.

"Nope," DiNozzo shot back angrily. "I'm just getting started. Because we have no idea how he's picking his victims. Is he planning it or picking women by opportunity? Does the rank mean anything? The costumes? Did he let Kessler live to fuck with us or did he finally make a mistake? Because that's the one thing we _do_ know about this dirtbag. He does not screw up. Not one shred of forensic evidence at three crime scenes."

"Done now?" Gibbs asked, his frustration matching his agent's.

"Nope," DiNozzo said, crossing the room and standing toe-to-toe with his boss. "Because I'm not done until we catch this bastard."

Gibbs reached out a hand and DiNozzo flinched, expecting a headslap. He just eyed his boss when the hand landed gently on his shoulder. "Glad to hear it, DiNozzo."

The softly spoken words knocked the fight out of the agent. He sighed and went back to his desk, dropping heavily into his chair. He popped back up just as suddenly. "I'm going to Quantico, Boss."

Gibbs just raised an eyebrow.

"This isn't a McGee 'find who sent the file, who made the call from where' type case. It's not an Abby 'I matched this fiber to that' type, either. All we have are people."

"There have been no witnesses," Ziva said wearily, finally speaking.

"No," DiNozzo agreed. "But it is a base full of Marines. Someone has to know something… about someone. I can't just sit here waiting for this psycho to grab another woman to rape and murder."

***

McGee sat on the uncomfortable couch in the safe house, watching Morgan sleep on an adjacent one and wondering if his team was getting anywhere with the interviews. He stared at the laptop on the coffee table and wished there was something he could do with it.

He had already been through the base's security cameras and found nothing. There were no cameras along the trail where Morgan had been attacked. No doubt the exact location had been chosen for that reason, along with its remoteness. He'd also watched hours of footage from the main and back gates even though he knew it wouldn't do any good. They knew when Morgan was attacked but not when she was taken off base. But still, he watched cars going in and out and hoped he'd see an unmasked attacker with Morgan thrown over his shoulder, waltzing past the Marines guards. _Ha, fat chance._

He couldn't remember the last time they had been so thoroughly frustrated by a lack of leads. He doubted the team would get anywhere interviewing base personnel close to the victims, but he also knew that it was too frustrating to simply sit and wait for someone else to die. His earlier elation at finding that the attacks happened on base was gone. The videos were useless. It was a big base. Too big to interview everyone. But knew his team would try.

Morgan stirred in her sleep, drawing his attention. He moved to her side and smoothed her hair. She mumbled something and stopped moving. McGee noted her black fingernails and dark hair and wondered if he would always have a thing for Goths. Things hadn't worked out between him and Abby, but he found himself hoping he'd see more of Morgan after they caught the killer.

_Like a beauty like her would want anything to do with a geek like you. She's just happy to have a federal agent protecting her now._

He looked back to her pretty face and found her staring at him. "Good morn… er, night."

"Mmmm." She stretched, wincing at the pain in her battered body. "What time is it?"

"Almost 9 p.m.," he answered.

A dark look shadowed her face. "He's going to kill again tonight, isn't he?"

"My team has been interviewing base personnel all day with no luck. Short of shutting down the base, there's nothing we can do."

She made a rude little noise. "Marines don't hide."

"But they are only human," McGee said. "Someone got to Sanders and McCormick. And you," he added softly, cursing himself for starting the stupid sentence.

Morgan didn't look offended though. Just tired. "Maybe they knew the killer. Just because I didn't doesn't mean they didn't. Or maybe just one did."

McGee nodded. "We still don't have a motive. We don't have anything, really."

She looked like she was about to argue, but then said, "Can we talk about something else, then?"

"Sure, whatever you'd like."

She was quiet, as if it was too much to think about anything other than what had happened to her. She tried to picture happy people going about their lives and somehow couldn't. That scared her.

"Why did you become a Marine?" McGee asked, sensing her struggle.

"My dad was one," she said automatically. "I always knew I wanted to serve and when it came to picking a branch, it was just natural. That, and I love a challenge."

He saw the smile, the defiance in her tone and knew that she possessed an uncanny strength. _Not uncanny,_ the writer in him corrected, _Uncommon._

He realized she was watching him and said, "I'm sorry. Did you say something?"

She shook her head. "You're looking at me funny."

"You're so strong," he said without stopping to censor himself. He figured she already knew that, but he still needed to tell her, needed her to believe him.

"Then why didn't I fight him off?" Her tone was suddenly fierce and her eyes held moisture, but she did not cry.

"He caught you by surprise. He was bigger than you and hell bent on doing…" McGee trailed off, and she pounced on his hesitation.

"Say it. He was hell bent on raping me," she spat at him. "Why tiptoe around it? It happened. It's over. And I'm still breathing."

McGee sighed. He knew he would screw this up. He longed for Gibbs and his ability to say the right things to victims.

"I'm sorry," she said, standing slowly and stretching despite the pain.

"Don't be," McGee said, remembering something Tony had said at the crime scene to Ziva. "It's okay to be human." He didn't want to think about what Ziva's tears had meant; he'd been purposely stopping that train of thought in its tracks. Without thinking, he got to his feet and wrapped his arms around Morgan's shaking shoulders, pulling her to him. She melted in his embrace, then suddenly went stiff.

"Shit!" she cried and he started to apologize, thinking he'd hurt or scared her.

"He kept calling a name," she said, pulling completely out of McGee embrace. She paced the unattractive living room, shaking her head and thinking back.

McGee just watched her, enthralled by both her beauty and her willingness to dive back in the painful memories. He didn't speak.

"Annie? Amy?" Morgan whispered, shaking her head. She sunk down onto the couch and looked up at McGee. "I can't remember."

McGee crossed the room and sat beside her, not touching her. "It's okay, Morgan. Just think. Or don't. It'll come to you."

"No, it won't," she said, looking miserable. He realized that she was either just as good at masking emotions as Tony was or the gravity of the situation hadn't sunk in until now. She looked defeated for the first time since she'd awoken at the scene. "And I don't want to keep reliving it in my head until it does."

"So just put it out of your head," McGee said, resting a hand on her knee. "We'll talk about something else."

She suddenly covered his hand with hers, and he had to fight the shiver her touch sent down his spine. She looked up into his eyes and what he saw there actually frightened him. The look was wild but somehow hopeful.

"I need you to help me remember," she said softly, moving his hand up higher on her thigh.

The words and the motion suddenly clicked in McGee's foggy head. "Ms. Kessler, I don't know what you're suggesting, but I can't—"

She laughed and the sound carried a derision he hadn't heard since high school. He was surprised that he, Special Agent Timothy McGee, could still be stung by a pretty woman laughing at him.

"Look at you," she said, a touch of bitterness in her voice. "Going all 'Ms. Kessler' on me. What's the matter, Tim? You don't think I'm pretty?"

The sultriness sent more shivers down his back, and he suddenly found himself lying on the couch, looking up at her bruised face as she straddled him. "Or do you just not want damaged goods?"

"Morgan, I—"

She swallowed his words with a rough kiss. McGee had no idea what to do. He found himself wondering what Tony would do in this situation and almost laughed at the ridiculous thought.

"Something funny?" Her hot breath was on his neck, and he fought to think coherently.

_If someone comes through that door…I_

"Stop, Morgan," he said firmly. "This isn't what you want right now."

She immediately slid off him and went to curl up on the other couch. He saw tears slipping down her cheeks and took a deep breath. "Morgan—"

"No, don't," she said, sniffling and putting a hand to her sore throat. "I just thought… Last time, I didn't touch anyone for so long… and I thought maybe… this time… if I just jumped back in… then I wouldn't be so…"

She stopped, her voice giving out. The broken, disjointed words suddenly made sense to McGee, who was still reeling from her rough kiss. _Focus!_ He thought, mentally headslapping himself.

"Last time?" McGee ventured gently. "Morgan, were you raped before?"

She looked up at him, tear-stained, bruised and _still beautiful_, and whispered, "I was a disaster before all this, what does that make me now?"


	3. Chapter 3

"This is never going to work," Ziva said, her voice low but even as she jogged the trail at Quantico in the darkness that same evening.

"It's better than the alternative," Tony answered as he picked his way along the edge of treeline, trying to keep up and stay in the shadows. He knew Gibbs was doing the same across the road. _And probably doing a much better job, Marine that he is. _

The openness of this stretch of trail, along a main drive and adjacent to the golf course, was a logistical nightmare, but they had learned from an interview with Sgt. Sanders' running buddy that this was a favorite route. And it was also Morgan's route when she was attacked the previous night. So Ziva had borrowed a PFC's jogging clothes and headed out. Tony wasn't happy with using her as bait, but he knew better than to voice that particular opinion. He valued his life and limbs too much.

"Tony!" Ziva hissed in his ear, loud enough to make him wince. "What alternative?"

"Doing nothing," came Gibbs' quiet reply. "Closer to the treeline, DiNozzo. Stay in the shadows."

"Sorry, Boss," Tony said, easing down the sloping ditch a bit. _Well, it's not a gutter, but… _ He forced that thought away and focused on not killing himself—or his surgically repaired left knee on the uneven terrain—and watching Ziva. They were approaching the spot where Kessler had been attacked.

Gritting his teeth against the pain that only the cold dampness of the night could bring, he realized there was another alternative: protection detail for Kessler. Tony did not envy the Probie, even though Kessler was definitely a beautiful, obviously strong woman. In truth, Tony couldn't get her reaction to his touch out of his head. He knew it was likely just the shock of awakening to someone touching her after being attacked, but the hate in her eyes haunted him.

_The last time a woman looked at me with such hate— Stop._ He firmly tossed Jeanne out of his head and focused on Ziva. She was passing the approximate location of Kessler's attack. Ziva jogged farther down the trail, about a mile, before Gibbs called the mission.

"Think he saw us and backed off?" DiNozzo asked, packing his communications gear into the truck where the team gathered. "Okay, well, saw me?"

Gibbs almost smiled at that. "You did fine, DiNozzo. He wasn't here tonight."

Tony flushed a little at the rare praise, but there was still frustration in his voice when he said, "Let's just hope he stayed in tonight. And isn't out killing someone else, somewhere else."

Gibbs and Ziva were silent as they finished packing their gear. Gibbs finally said, "I'm going to go relieve McGee. You two go home and get some sleep."

"I'll go, Boss," Tony said as Ziva climbed wearily into the truck. "I'm too keyed up to sleep anyway."

"The knee that bad?" Gibbs asked softly, and suddenly Tony was lying in an alley, watching his attacker drop the pipe he had used like a baseball bat.

Tony batted the memory away and said with a smile, "Nah, it was watching Ziva trot by in those tight—"

Gibbs lowered his hand after thwacking the back of his agent's head and said, "Quit deflecting. I'm asking if you're in pain."

"It's just the weather, the uneven ground," Tony answered honestly. "It's always going to be messed up. I'm fine."

Gibbs nodded. "I'll send someone in the morning to relieve you, then."

***

"I was a disaster before all this, what does that make me now?"

"That much stronger," McGee answered with conviction. "Morgan, I told you before, you're not a victim. You're only a victim if you choose to be, and you obviously chose not to be one."

"You're sweet, Tim," she said softly, wiping away her tears. "Naïve and too innocent, but sweet."

"Make a deal?" McGee asked, letting the insult roll off him in a way he knew he couldn't have a year or two ago. "I'll stop saying stupid, trite things to placate you if you stop crying."

She smiled a broken little smile. "Deal. If you come over here and sit with me. I like being near you."

McGee felt his cheeks burn but he complied. He sat next to Morgan, putting his arms around her and marveling again at the ease with which he did it.

"Thanks, Tim," she said sleepily.

McGee felt her relax against his chest and let his mind wander. He thought about the case, but quickly turned his thoughts aside as he felt the familiar frustration creep up at their lack of progress. He wondered how the setup with Ziva was going. He wasn't exactly happy about them using her as bait, but he knew she could handle herself. Or at least the old Ziva could. He thought back to her crying in Tony's arms and felt the shock of that all over again. A year ago, he would never have imagined that happening, not in his wildest dreams. It made him realize that things change, and people change.

"No!"

Morgan came awake with a start in his arms and he murmured softly into her hair, telling her it was okay and hoping she'd go back to sleep.

"No," she said, fully awake. "It's not going to be okay. I just dreamed about him. Except every time he said the name it was something different. Annie, Angel, Amy, Amber, Alicia. It's not going to stop until I figure out what he kept calling me."

She had pulled free from his embrace and was standing in front of him, looking down with pleading eyes. "You have to help me remember."

McGee stood, placing hands on her shoulders and wincing when she flinched at the gentle touch. _That's more like it_, he thought bitterly. "Morgan. I'm not going to hurt you. No case is that important."

Something dark gleamed in her nearly black eyes. "No case? Not even mine?"

She must have seen the moment he gave in because she was suddenly taking his arm and leading him toward the narrow hallway that led to the back bedrooms. He saw where she was headed and lost his nerve.

"Chill out," she said. "We're just going to go through the motions. I'm going to jog down the hall, and I want you to grab me. One hand around my waist and one over my mouth. Drag me to floor over here, straddle me and put your hands on my throat. Say every 'A' name you can think of."

"Morgan, this is kind of cra—"

"Crazy?" she spoke over him. "Yeah. But so I am. This will work. It has to."

McGee wasn't sure why he agreed. Maybe it was because he knew she wouldn't rest until she remembered the name. He hated himself as he reached out and grabbed her, dragging her roughly across the floor, following her terse "Don't be gentle" order and feeling more than a little sick about it.

"Alex, Amelia, Anna," he said, wishing they'd made a list before starting this sick little scene.

"Kiss me and whisper the rest in my ear," Morgan commanded from her place beneath him. "But keep your hands on my throat."

Wincing as he tightened his grip, he kissed her, unable to take any sort of pleasure in the softness of her lips under his. He leaned down. "Addison, Agatha, Annette, Adrienne."

"Adelle!" she cried.

McGee huffed out a relieved breath and stood. He was about to pull Morgan to her feet when he heard a noise behind him. He grabbed his gun and whirled around, leveling the weapon at a very shocked Tony DiNozzo.


	4. Chapter 4

"You gonna shoot me, Probie?" Tony asked once he found his voice. His eyes flicked from McGee's to Kessler's to the barrel of the gun still pointed at his chest.

"No, I just… I—" McGee stuttered.

"Then drop it, McGee," DiNozzo said in a voice usually reserved for scumbag suspects.

McGee holstered the weapon, realizing that he felt like scum after what he had allowed himself to be talked into. _Tony would never have allowed this to happen, _he thought wildly, watching his partner's green eyes glitter with … rage?

That thought was confirmed when DiNozzo reached out and grabbed McGee by the arm, prepared to haul him out of the room. "You stay here," he barked at Kessler, who still sat on the floor, watching the angry exchange.

McGee started to protest but stopped when DiNozzo wrenched his arm up behind his back and marched the younger agent out of the room and into the kitchen. He released McGee's arm, but spun him and pinned him to the wall. "The _fuck_ were you thinking, Probie?"

McGee bristled at the nickname, but he couldn't remember a time when Tony had used it with such disgust in his voice. "I didn't… I just…"

"You didn't think?" DiNozzo said, his voice low and deadly calm. McGee would never admit it, but the tone reminded him of the terrifying intensity his partner was capable of. "Yeah, McGee. I figured that when I walked through the door and saw you kissing a rape victim with your hands around her neck."

"She said… she said she needed to remember," McGee said, his anger rising when he realized she _had_ remembered. McGee shoved DiNozzo off him and straightened. "And she did. I thought it was crazy, too, and I said no, but she insisted. And now we have a name. That bastard kept calling her 'Adelle.' "

DiNozzo eyed his partner before getting back in his face. "You want a pat on the head and a 'good job'? Yes, you got a lead, but that was not the way to do it." Tony had a hard time keeping the disgust out of his voice. All he saw were McGee's hands on Kessler's bruised throat.

McGee shoved again and glared at his partner. "Back off, Tony."

"It was my idea."

DiNozzo forced the rage out of his expression before facing the woman. "He didn't have to go along with it."

"But I remembered the name," Kessler said, not backing down from the barely concealed anger in his green eyes.

"So the ends justify the means?" Tony asked, forcing himself to calm down.

"I think so," she answered simply.

Tony eyed her for a long moment, then turned back to McGee. His expression softened when he saw the sick look on his partner's face. The rage was all but gone when he said, "Go home, McGee. He didn't take the bait with Ziva. There's nothing to do now. Get some rest."

"But—"

"Go. Home. McGee," DiNozzo said, grinding the words through clenched jaws. "Cool off. Go home. And I won't tell Gibbs just how you two remembered the name."

McGee shot daggers at Tony and went to gather the laptop.

"Leave it," DiNozzo said, his tone neutral. McGee was struck again by just how quickly DiNozzo could mask his emotions. "I'll start searching on Adelle."

McGee swept past DiNozzo and leaned down to Morgan. "I'm sorry," he whispered and slammed the door on his way out.

Tony stared at the door until he felt Kessler's eyes on him. He turned, not expecting the anger he saw in her eyes.

"He's a highly trained federal agent, and you're…"

"A victim?" she supplied angrily.

"Hurting," Tony said softly.

The anger melted from her eyes, and she returned to the couch, curling her legs beneath her smallish frame. She tucked a dark strand of hair behind her ear and looked up in surprise as Tony settled a blanket over her. She hadn't realized she was shaking.

Tony sat on the opposite couch, straightening his sore knee and propping it on the scarred, old coffee table. "He needed to be the one thinking clearly, and he wasn't."

She sighed. "I needed to know what he was calling me. It was making me crazy."

"Did he suggest any other ways to help you remember?"

"No," she conceded, picking at the hem of the blanket in her lap. "Do you think it will matter? My remembering the name?"

Tony nodded. "It's a lead. I'm guessing the name means nothing to you?"

She shook her head, frustrated tears pooling in her dark eyes.

"Let us worry about that," Tony said gently, seeing the tears. "You just concentrate on getting yourself through this."

They were quiet, Morgan lost in thought and Tony tapping away at the laptop in what he knew was a blind search. Still, he searched, surreptitiously watching Morgan starting to crumble from the corner of his eye.

He set aside the laptop. "You know they're making a movie about Amelia Earhart? Those kind of movies aren't really my thing, though. It's like 'Titanic.' James Cameron is a genius and they built a grand, sweeping story there, but really, what's the point?" He paused. "You know the boat's gonna sink."

She surprised him by laughing out loud at that. He smiled.

"I hope that's not a metaphor for my predicament, Agent DiNozzo," Morgan said, the ghost of a half-smile on her pretty face.

"Anyone who calls what you've been through a 'predicament' isn't going down without a fight," he answered. "And it's Tony, please."

"Well, Tony, thanks for not trying to make me feel better with useless platitudes. I really appreciate it."

"I've been a cop for a long time. I've seen this destroy people and I've seen people fight their way out. You strike me as a fighter."

A hint of red tinged her cheeks at his directness. "What's the difference? Between those who make and those who don't?"

"I wish I had an answer," he said seriously. Then he smiled. "I'd bottle the stuff and sell it, if I knew."

"You wouldn't sell it," she said, her dark gaze meeting his green one. "You'd give it away."

He held her gaze, suddenly realizing why McGee was so drawn to her. It was the same reason he wasn't attracted to her. She had a world-weariness that he knew only too well but he was sure seemed exotic, intoxicating even, to the younger agent.

"Maybe it's intestinal fortitude," she mused, staring off into a darkened corner of the room.

"And here I thought that's what kept me from tossing my cookies at gruesome crime scenes," Tony joked.

The corner of her mouth lifted slightly, but she turned intense eyes on him and asked, "What's the worst thing you've ever seen?"

He found himself struggling not to squirm under that dark gaze, which was surprising considering he could brush aside even Gibbs' most intense glare. The thought of the two of them in a room together made him shiver.

"Sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have asked."

"Kids. Kids are always the worst," Tony answered. "And as bad as seeing their broken little bodies is, and as selfish as it is of me, I hate the parents. I don't hate _them_. But I hate that I have to talk to them, to make them remember, to tell them little Jimmy's never coming home."

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I can't imagine what that must be like."

"Don't spend too much time trying," he said, standing. "It's cold in here, isn't it?"

She nodded and he fiddled with the thermostat until they heard the heat kick on.

"Thanks," she said.

"No problem. I'm freezing my face off, too."

She smiled, knowing he knew she wasn't talking about the heat.

"You want to try to sleep?" he asked, noting the darkness under her eyes. "You can take either bedroom."

She shuddered. "I don't really want to be alone right now. Maybe I'll try to sleep here. I slept almost all day, though." She sighed, knowing she was rambling. "I can't believe this is happening again."

Tony was scanning names on the laptop and almost missed that last part. He looked up. "Again?"

"Yeah. Don't ever get on a plane with me, Tony. I don't know what the statistics on plane crashes are, but I bet they're not too different from the chances of being raped twice."

Tony was on his feet in an instant despite the lingering pain in his knee. He went to his jacket and retrieved his notebook while Morgan gave him a confused look.

"Did you report the first rape?" he asked, looking up from his notes from interviews with the first two victims' families.

"Yes. It happened when I was nineteen, back in Denver."

"They catch the son of a bitch?"

"Yeah, well, kind of. It was my boyfriend. I tried to break up with him, and he wasn't having any part of it. He raped me at knifepoint, and I got the knife and stabbed him. I didn't mean to kill him, but I did what I had to so he didn't kill me first. He was very 'if I can't have you, no one can.' "

Tony watched her recount the rape and murder with hardly a blink of an eye and a tone devoid of emotion.

"I'm over it," she said, seeing the look. "It took me a long time, but I know now that I did what I had to do. And now I have to start all over."

She quickly wiped away the tear that slipped down her cheek. "I'm going to try to sleep."

"I'll be right here," he said.

Tony waited until she was breathing evenly and got up and headed to the kitchen. He pulled out his cell and called Gibbs, wincing at the sleepiness in his boss's gruff voice.

"Sorry, Boss," Tony said, leaning against an ancient countertop. "But this couldn't wait."

"Is everything okay? Kessler?"

"She's fine… now. But she told me she had been raped before. This wasn't the first time. And when I talked to Cpl. McCormick's mother, she mentioned that she noticed Andrea went through a really dark period about a year ago. She totally withdrew from her family, her friends. The mother thought it was a bad breakup, but then realized Andrea was sleeping around the clock and missing work. She never found out what it was, but I'm thinking maybe she was raped. Maybe Sanders, too. That would explain what Ducky said were self-inflicted cuts on her thigh."

"We need to talk to Ziva and see if she got anything from Sanders' family," Gibbs said, fully awake. "I'm sending an agent over to relieve you. Go home and get some sleep so you're fresh in the morning."

"Gibbs, I don't think we should put her with yet another unfamiliar face. She's tough, but waking up to another strange man might not be so good."

"I'll send a female agent," Gibbs said.

"Can I stay here? I'll sleep when the backup gets here. Just in case."

"Fine," Gibbs said. He paused. "DiNozzo?"

"Yeah Boss?"

Gibbs was silent, biting back the pride he felt that his agent cared so much about the feelings of a woman he barely knew. He settled for a gruff, "You're not falling for her, are you?"

Tony laughed softly, but all humor faded when he remembered McGee kissing Morgan on the floor. "It's not me we're gonna have to worry about, Gibbs."


	5. Chapter 5

"Morgan? Morgan, it's Tony."

DiNozzo didn't touch the sleeping woman. He couldn't handle seeing the fear and pain and hatred that had been in her eyes the last time he had.

"Mmmm," she said sleepily. "What?"

"I'm sorry to wake you, but I have to go. This is Agent Shelly Woodson. She's going to stay with you. Is that all right?"

Morgan blinked a few times. "Is Tim coming back?" She slid a glance at Woodson. "I'm sorry, I don't mean any disrespect. I'm sure you're a fine agent. Tim and I … well, we just kind of bonded."

Tony made a funny little noise that he expertly covered with a cough. Woodson, to her credit, ignored the daggers Morgan threw at DiNozzo. She didn't know what was going on and she honestly didn't care. She knew her own team leader had offered her up to sit a boring protection detail as punishment. She had enough issues to deal with without getting caught in the notorious Team Gibbs crossfire. Well, she'd love to get caught up in something with DiNozzo—twisted bed sheets?—but that was a different story.

"Agent McGee is needed to work the case," DiNozzo said curtly, but something in her eyes made him feel guilty about his tone. He found himself scribbling McGee's cell number on a piece of paper and slipping it to Morgan on his way out the door.

***

McGee sat in the deserted squad room, awaiting the arrivals of his teammates. He knew he was early. He hadn't been able to sleep—at all that night—so he'd headed in even though he wasn't expected for another hour.

He couldn't get Morgan out of his head.

He could still feel her lips under his, but before he could take any pleasure from the memory, he felt her throat under his hands. He had felt the frenetic tempo of her pulse at his fingertips, and the thought of it made him sick. He'd just wanted to help her. Everyone knew the annoyance of a memory that hovered just out of reach, like not being able to place in what movie you'd previously seen an actor. He couldn't imagine how much that feeling would be intensified if trying to remember actually _hurt_, actually mattered.

Speaking of actors, McGee wondered if Tony had gotten anywhere with the search on the name Adelle. It wasn't a common name, but there was nothing else to go on so he doubted Tony had gotten anywhere. Even McGee, with all his computer skills, wasn't really sure where to start.

McGee turned on his computer anyway, thinking about the anger his partner had displayed the previous evening. He queried his memory, trying to find a time when he'd seen Tony that pissed off. He couldn't. Hell, seeing Tony display _any_ emotion that openly scared McGee. Tim shoved aside the memory of the disgust in Tony's voice because of the hurt that welled up inside him along with it. All teasing, bantering and pranking aside, McGee respected DiNozzo and cared deeply about what the senior agent thought of him. He almost wished he'd never met the dark-haired beauty whose brokenness so thoroughly captivated him.

_Great, _he thought, hearing the elevator ding. _I _still_ can't get Morgan out of my head._

The second that Tony entered the squad room and saw the look on McGee's face, he knew he'd screwed up giving Morgan the number. He wondered if she'd actually called and caused the turmoil he saw written as plain as Sharpie on the Probie's face or if simple thoughts of her had brought it on. _Nothing simple about it_, Tony thought. Oddly, it was his boss's voice he heard in his head.

Tony was still wrestling with how much he should say to Gibbs when he tossed his bag behind his chair and sat, still studying McGee, who hadn't greeted him. Ziva and Gibbs were noticeably absent, and he wondered briefly where they were. Traffic had been bitch though so he turned to his junior agent.

"Probie."

McGee flinched even though the nickname carried none of the disgust he'd heard last night. Tony's tone was actually soft and that unnerved McGee even more. "What, Tony?" he said wearily.

McGee fought the urge to squirm as DiNozzo got up and stood directly in front of McGee's desk. McGee looked up at the older man and forced himself not to rise even though he hated having to look up at DiNozzo.

"What's really bothering you?"

McGee made a disgusted sound. "You really have to ask? Or are you just making me say what I did out loud so Gibbs can come sneaking in and hear me?"

There was no emotion on DiNozzo's face, but that didn't surprise McGee. The junior agent knew even Gibbs couldn't read Tony all the time.

"I told you I wouldn't tell Gibbs," Tony said quietly. "And I'm not asking for any other reason than that I'm worried about you."

McGee actually laughed. "Right, DiNozzo. You don't do concern."

McGee saw something flicker in Tony's eyes, but it was gone before he could even feel guilty.

"We've been working together for a long time," Tony said, his voice still soft. "And I don't think it's just what you did last night that's bothering you. _She's_ getting to you."

" 'What I did last night'?" McGee scoffed. "Isn't that enough? Now you want me to feel bad for liking her?"

"First, you don't just like her. You're enthralled by her, and I understand because she's intense. It's hard _not_ to be drawn to her. And it's okay to be drawn to her. _After _the case. And second, what you did last night is over and done. You made a mistake, but there's nothing you can do to change it so just learn from it and move on."

"Like you did with Jeanne?" McGee asked without thinking. He saw that he'd scored a direct hit with the low blow and immediately regretted his words. But Tony just smiled even though McGee saw pain flash through his eyes before it was quickly masked.

"Just try to keep your head on straight, McGee, that's all I'm saying—" They both heard the elevator ding and McGee felt a stab of panic. "… And that, Probie, is why you never double-book dates with a cop and a martial-arts instructor. You're bound to get caught, and when you do, there's likely going to be a physical altercation."

"Shut up, DiNozzo," Gibbs barked, smacking Tony on the back of the head on his way to his desk. "I'm not in the mood for you today."

"Shutting up, Boss," Tony said, smoothing a hand over his hair and retreating to his desk. "Do we have another body? Or do you think our killer took the night off?"

"Would we be here if we had a body?" Gibbs growled, seeing the grateful looks McGee was shooting at DiNozzo and wondering what they'd really been talking about.

"Good point," DiNozzo said, looking up as Ziva hurried by.

"I know I am late, Gibbs," she said. "Traffic was terrible."

"Just got here myself," Gibbs admitted. He saw the surprise on Ziva's face so he barked, "What have we got?"

"That bastard kept calling Morg, er, Kessler 'Adelle.' Don't know the significance of the name, but it's a start," McGee said.

"I didn't get anywhere searching last night," DiNozzo said, "but maybe McGee'll get something I didn't."

Neither Gibbs nor McGee missed the fact that Tony didn't employee his usual "McGeek" nickname. Gibbs made a mental note to talk to his senior agent while McGee cringed and started framing his apology to Tony in his head.

DiNozzo outlined his rape theory, asking Ziva, "Did Sanders' family say anything about her mental state? Depression maybe?"

Ziva flipped through her notes. "Sanders had several bouts with depression over her life, starting in high school. No reported rapes, but as Ducky said, she had self-inflicted wounds on her thigh. That could have been her way of dealing."

"So if our killer is picking women who had been raped before," Gibbs mused, "and neither Sanders nor McCormick reported rapes, who would know about it?"

"A shrink?" McGee said.

"A friend?" Ziva ventured.

"No mutual friends," Gibbs said, shaking his head. "Who else?"

"A chaplain, maybe," DiNozzo said. "The base has both shrinks and priests."

McGee was already typing. "Base has four mental-health professionals and one chaplain. Two of the shrinks are women, though, so we can skip them."

"Split the rest of 'em up," Gibbs ordered. "Each of you bring one in. I want this thing solved yesterday."

"So does the SecNav."

The team turned to their director. Vance said, "I don't think I have to tell you how bad we need to get this guy."

"Then don't," Gibbs returned.

Vance just smiled tightly. "Let me know if you need any extra resources." He turned to Gibbs. "And keep me in the loop on any new developments."

Gibbs nodded, watching the director turn and leave as quickly as he'd arrived.

"Boss?"

"Yeah, McGee?"

"Maybe I should take the personnel files to Mor--Kessler and see if she knows any of them."

Gibbs saw DiNozzo's eyes snap up at that, and he thought back to Tony's comment on the phone earlier. He studied the agent in front of him and saw the eagerness in his eyes. "Good thinking, McGee. DiNozzo and Ziva can handle the pick-ups."

Gibbs didn't miss the shadow that passed over DiNozzo's face. He met his senior agent's eyes and was surprised to find not jealousy but concern in the green gaze. Gibbs almost called McGee back but the almost imperceptible shake of DiNozzo's head stopped him. He really needed to have a talk--an actual verbal one--once DiNozzo returned.


	6. Chapter 6

"Hey, Morgan," McGee said. He turned to the female agent occupying the other couch in the shabby living room. "Agent Woodson."

Woodson nodded a greeting. She was bored out of her mind and her charge had barely said a word all night or all morning. Woodson knew the woman had been raped and was probably going through hell so she let her be.

"Are you here to stay?" Woodson asked, realizing the time.

McGee checked his watch. 0800. "I'll be here a while so you can go."

"Thanks," Woodson said, jumping up and stretching. "I hope we nail this bastard for you, Lance Cpl. Kessler."

Morgan mumbled something that sounded like "thanks" as Woodson left the small house.

"Everything okay?" McGee asked, taking a seat and spreading the files on the battle-scarred coffee table. "Did she upset you?"

Morgan sighed. "No. She was fine. She tried to talk to me, but all I got from her was the victim vibe. I felt like she was just glad it wasn't her that got ... well, raped."

"Victim vibe?" McGee asked, raising an eyebrow.

Morgan laughed but there was no humor in it. "Just this feeling I got a lot when my boyfriend raped me and tried to kill me. I told you about that last night, didn't I?"

McGee nodded. They had talked about a lot the previous night, and that probably had a lot to do with why he felt like he had known her for years.

"Morgan, I need you to look at these photos and tell me if you know any of these people."

"Suspects?" Morgan asked, sitting up straighter.

"Maybe," McGee said, outlining their rape theory.

Morgan made an odd little noise and McGee frowned. "What it is?"

"It's disgusting really," Morgan said wearily. "So many rape victims on one base. I guess it should make me feel like I'm not alone, but it just makes me sick."

"I'm sorry, Morgan," McGee said, scooting closer to the woman and putting a hand on her knee.

She tried to smile at him, but it came out all wrong. She knew it so she buried her face in his shoulder. He put his arms around her shaking body, letting her cry. He didn't say anything because he was afraid it would be wrong no matter what it was. He stroked her back and relished the warmth and closeness of her body even as he scolded himself for doing so. He half-expected DiNozzo to come strolling through the door with some smart comment.

_Shut up, Tim_, he told himself, _Tony covered for you this morning and got on Gibbs' bad side for his trouble... for_ you.

"Oh hell," Morgan said, sitting up and wiping her eyes. "What am I doing? We need to find this guy and I'm sitting here bawling my eyes out."

McGee smiled. "You're a good person, Morgan."

She managed a real smile at that. "So who are these suspects?"

McGee reached forward and picked up a file. "Psychologist Franklin Plassmann is one of them. Do you know him?"

Morgan shook her head. "Nope."

"What about a counselor named Dennis Cielo?"

"No, don't know him."

"Chaplain Alexander Karras?"

She frowned. "I'm not exactly what you'd call spiritual."

"Satanist?" McGee joked.

"Ha. No, I'm just not ... sure I believe in a higher power."

"Understandable," McGee said, removing the photos from the files.

"Well, no," Morgan said. "It's not just the rapes. I mean, I'm sure that'd be enough for most people to give up on God--or a god--but I've just never been religious. My parents weren't, either."

"You've got lots of company there," McGee said. "I need you to look at these photos. I know your attacker was wearing a mask, but maybe you'll recognize something. Okay?"

She nodded, looking at the photos like they were live serpents. McGee laid them in front of her and she shuddered.

"Morgan?" he asked, his voice rising in excitement. "Do you recognize someone?"

She shook her head. "No. It's just that one of these men could have raped me and if I ran into him on the street, I'd never even know." She looked up at McGee with eyes glistening with tears. "Oh, Tim. How am I ever going to feel safe again?"

He folded her into his arms again, feeling like she fit perfectly. "I'll keep you safe, Morgan. I promise I will."

***

Tony and Ziva returned from the interrogation rooms where the three suspects were divided to find Gibbs standing beside his desk, reading a letter with a scowl on his face.

"Boss?" Tony ventured uncertainly.

Gibbs looked up, the rage in his eyes stopping his team in their tracks.

"What is it, Gibbs?" Tony asked again.

"It's a note from our killer," Gibbs said, and they noticed the gloves on his hands. He held the note by its corner and let his team read the short missives.

_I know she's alive.  
I know you have her.  
She's mine. _

"How does he know?" Ziva asked, drawing a glare from Gibbs.

"It's been on the news, Ziva," Tony said quietly. "They released information that a victim was attacked but survived and is now in protective custody." A muscle twitched in his clenched jaw. "SecNav probably ordered it to ease the tension on base."

Gibbs nodded a confirmation. "DiNozzo, take this down to Abby and take Cielo when you're done. David, you've got Plassmann. I'll take Karras."

DiNozzo nodded, took the letter—holding it with the glove Gibbs had slipped off—and moved toward interrogation, only to stop after about five steps. "That letter come by mail?"

"No," Gibbs said, the corner of his mouth ticking upward at his agent's line of thinking. He saw the wheels turning in Ziva's head and let her work out what DiNozzo had already figured.

"First victim was attacked on Halloween," Ziva said, thinking out loud. "That was Saturday. Second victim on Sunday. Kessler on Monday night. When did they release the information about her being alive?"

"It made the early morning news Tuesday—yesterday," Gibbs said.

"He couldn't have mailed it," Ziva said. "Not enough time."

Gibbs nodded. "FedEx'ed it. I already checked. It originated in a dropbox in the middle of the city. Untraceable. Return address is fake."

That lead exhausted, the team went their separate ways, all hoping the same thing: that Abby could pull something useful off the brazen note.


	7. Chapter 7

Tony swept into the lab, smiling a little at Abby bouncing to the loud music. She had gone all out this year decorating and hadn't had time to take down the various ghosts, vampires, pumpkins and other assorted ghouls.

The smile abruptly turned to a grimace when he stepped farther into the lab. The sickly sweet scent of the hay bale in the corner registered at about the same time his eyes landed on the homemade ghost hanging by the window. The long white material swayed softly under the heating vent, and Tony barely made it to the nearest trash can before throwing up violently.

_He knew his mother would be in the barn so he ran straight there after the bus dropped him off out front. He raced to the old wooden structure, clutching a report with a big red "A" on the front. He knew she would be so proud and he couldn't wait to show her._

_He bounded into the barn and skidded to a stop. The scent of hay invaded his nostrils as the sight assaulted him. He blinked in surprise, unsure of what he was actually looking at even as overwhelming sadness and anger began to burn in his soul._

_She was hanging from a rafter, her body dangling lifelessly in the center aisle. The slight breeze pulled at the long white dress she wore, giving the fleeting appearance of life. His heart surged at the thought even though he knew she was dead. _

Tony braced himself with two hands on the trash can and was thankful that the loud music had covered the sound of his gagging—until he looked up and saw Abby rushing at him. She muted the music and set the remote on the shiny silver table.

"Tony!" She took his arm and made him sit in her chair. She brushed a hand across his pale face and disappeared toward her office while he tried to stop the shaking in his hands.

He took a deep breath to try to clear the images from his head and realized a half-second too late that that was a very bad idea. The hay's scent returned with a vengeance, and he was up like he'd been shocked and puking his guts out in the trash can again. Abby ran back into the lab and set the water bottle on the table. She laid a gentle hand on his back and murmured soothingly while he gagged.

She repeated the motion of steering him to her chair and put the water bottle into his shaking hands. He drank deeply and used the paper towel she handed him to wipe his mouth.

"God, Tony," she breathed, her hand on his cheek. "Are you coming down with something? You're shaking."

He took a shallow, shuddering breath and met her eyes. _Big mistake_, he thought, again too late_._

"Oh, Tony," she said, enveloping him in an impossibly gentle hug. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. "Can't… Abbs," he forced the words past the lump in his throat. He wasn't sure if his strangled response was because of his memories or the kindness he saw in the cool green eyes watching his own.

"At least tell me what triggered it?" she said. "So I can get rid of it." A look of panic flashed across her face, and she backed away. "It's not me, is it? I'm wearing a different perfume, and it's an actual store-bought scent, not the stuff I usually make myself. I mean, that's the only thing that's changed because you've heard the music before, it's like my favorite song. Well, that and the decorations, but you're not afraid of ghosts. Oh my god, not fake ghosts, but _real_ ghosts. Tony, please say something so I can shut up."

He almost smiled at that. He saw her frustration and misplaced guilt, and he somehow managed to choke out, "The hay. The smell. Always makes me puke. Found… my mother… in the barn."

The effort left him breathing hard, which intensified the smell. He forced himself to calm down. He continued, "Letter is from our killer. Need you to—"

"Got it," she said, taking his arm and walking him to the door. "I'm so sorry, Tony. I had no idea, I'll get rid of it, and it will never happen again."

"You didn't know," he said, his head clearing once he was far from the awful scent. "Thanks, Abbs."

He kissed her cheek and grimaced. "Ugh. I should apologize for kissing you after tossing my cookies like that. I'd murder someone for a tooth brush."

He found a genuine smile for her when she pushed a pack of gum into his hands and shoved him out the door. "I'll call you if I get anything off the note."

He nodded, popped a piece of gum into his mouth and almost choked on it when he ran smack into Gibbs in the hallway. He coughed, tucking the gum safely between his teeth and said, "Hey, Boss," as casually as he could manage considering the events of the last few minutes.

Tony eyed his boss warily when the older man put a hand on his shoulder, and the senior agent was pathetically glad he'd gotten his shaking under control.

Tony wasn't sure he could handle the concerned gaze so he said, "So Karras did it and it's case closed? He broke in five seconds under that creepy stare? Not surprising," Tony babbled, unable to help himself, " 'cause I'm about to break and I didn't kill anyone."

"I'm so sorry, Tony," Gibbs said and watched his agent take the kind words like a sucker punch to the gut. "I knew about the hay, and I'd meant to tell Abby to get rid of it, but with the case… And then I forgot. I never would have sent you down here… I'm sorry."

"That's two in ten seconds," Tony croaked, his hand on his belly. "I think I'm gonna be sick again."

Gibbs smiled wryly. "I'd head-slap you, but you'd probably puke on my shoes." The smile faded. "You know I don't lock my door, right?"

The look he gave Tony said more than the words, and DiNozzo nodded. "Thanks, Boss. I'm gonna go talk to Cielo now."

Gibbs fought the urge to pat his shoulder and said instead, "Take your time with him."

DiNozzo gave Gibbs a confused look.

"Can't kill anyone tonight if he's in our interrogation room, DiNozzo."

**A/N: ** This whole scene may seem a bit random, but—believe me—it's essential to the plot. Pinky swear! Thanks to everyone reading and reviewing. This one isn't coming as easily as the last two have so I really appreciate the feedback!


	8. Chapter 8

Gibbs stood in the observation room, watching Alexander Karras. Gibbs tried to focus on Karras, but all he could see was his senior agent bent over that trash can. It occurred to Gibbs that as disconcerting as DiNozzo's reaction had been, at least he had been honest about its origin. Not too long ago, the younger agent would have brushed the whole thing off with a half-smile and a comment about bad takeout.

Gibbs pushed the thoughts aside and went to sit in front of Karras, tossing a file down before the man. Karras fit the general description Kessler had given—big build, brown eyes—but so did a lot of people.

Gibbs smiled. He asked, conversationally, "So, Alexander Karras, why do enjoy raping and killing women?"

***

DiNozzo sat across from Dennis Cielo, watching him and not speaking. He hated interrogating mental-health professionals. He was always slightly afraid that they would see something in him that other people couldn't. He wondered if they could take one look at a crowd and immediately seek out the damaged, the broken. Then DiNozzo shook the thought from his head. There had to be a real, concrete way that one of these suspects knew about the rapes, and he was damned sure going to find it.

DiNozzo nudged one of the soda cans toward Cielo, trying to decide whether to play nice or not. He opened the other for himself and drank, watching the counselor eye the can.

"It's not a cop-show ploy to get your DNA," DiNozzo said with a smile, setting the can aside.

_It's so I can get this damned taste out of my mouth, _he thought.

The smile turned to ice. "We have better ways of doing that."

***

Ziva placed her hands on the table in front of her and watched Dr. Franklin Plassmann watch her. It was unnerving to have his piercing brown eyes boring into her own, but she didn't blink under the stare.

"You are Franklin Plassmann, yes?"

"_Dr._ Franklin Plassmann, yes," he said, looking more annoyed than haughty. "Can you please tell me what this is about? I had to cancel appointments, and I don't think I have to tell you how much that offends me."

"You can reschedule," Ziva said absently, flipping through the doctor's personnel file.

"Yes," Plassmann said sharply, drawing Ziva's eyes from the file. "I could. Do you know what I do, Agent David?"

"_Officer _David," she said, matching his earlier inflection. "And yes, you are a doctor. And a doctor's time is valuable." She smiled a cold little smile at him. "Even Mossad officers get sick, doctor. I do not need you to tell me how valuable your time is."

***

Gibbs watched the chaplain go white, watched the blood literally drain from his face. Gibbs had to forcibly push away thoughts of DiNozzo as he marveled at how the mind could cause such physical reactions in the body. _Bet Ducky's got a day's worth of comments on that._

"I didn't… You can't think that I.. I couldn't…" Karras sputtered.

Gibbs watched him flail with something like amusement. "Why did you dress them up? Why the little-girl costumes?"

Karras' eyes went wide and he gripped the table. "Costumes?" he whispered.

Gibbs knew that detail hadn't been released to the press, and he gauged Karras' reaction.

"I didn't… I couldn't…" Karras repeated softly, still watching Gibbs with wide eyes.

"Yeah, you said that," Gibbs barked, making the chaplain jump. Gibbs felt a niggling of conscience catch up with his burning need to find the killer. But he pushed it down.

"Corps chaplains can marry, Karras. So why rape and kill when you could settle down with some nice girl?"

***

DiNozzo saw Cielo's eyes widen so he pressed, his voice conversational with an undertone of malice, "What's up with the costumes, anyway? You like little girls? I mean, I have been known to date younger women, but princesses, fairies? Not really my thing. What about you?"

Cielo's voice shook when he said, "I don't know what you're talking about. What costumes?"

DiNozzo weighed the man's reaction to the unreleased information as he spread photos of the three victims on the table.

"These are the photos from their service records," DiNozzo said, tapping each photo once, hard. "You tell me if you knew any of them, and I won't show you the crime scene photos."

Cielo winced. "I don't know these two," he said, pointing to Kessler and McCormick but not actually touching the photos. "But I do know… did know Sgt. Sanders. I saw her regularly."

"Professionally or personally?"

"Professionally," Cielo answered. "But I can't speak to the nature of those conversations because of confidentiality."

"Okay then, skip the confidential conversations. Tell me about watercooler ones, instead," DiNozzo said, the hard look telling the man it wasn't a suggestion.

"We didn't really speak outside of my office," Cielo said, squirming slightly under the intensity of DiNozzo's glare.

"Didn't _really_ speak or didn't speak?" DiNozzo asked pointedly.

"Didn't speak," Cielo said, his voice low.

"Was she raped?"

Cielo's head came up sharply at that. "I can't tell you that. Not without a court order."

"Is there a reason why you would want to impede the investigation of a rapist and murderer?" DiNozzo asked coldly.

Cielo's gaze dropped to his hands. He sighed, then looked up and met DiNozzo's eyes. "I want nothing more than for you to catch this guy. But if I breach the confidence of Sgt. Sanders and someone finds out, then I may as well quit and become a potato farmer because no one will ever trust me again. Trust, Agent DiNozzo, is the only tool I have when I first meet a patient. I'm not about to give that up. I'm sorry."

***

Ziva saw Plassmann blink at the word "Mossad," but he recovered quickly.

"Officer David," he said, letting out a pent-up breath. "My time _is_ valuable. But only because what I do helps the men and women who come back broken from war zones. I come in early and go home late because these warriors need me when they come back from combat and can't process the horror that they've seen. The Marine I was with when you came to pick me up killed a British soldier in what the Corps called a 'friendly-fire' incident. If I can help him work through the pain and guilt that he's feeling—if I can keep him from killing himself—then yes, I'd say my time is valuable."

He paused, watching Ziva with bright eyes.

"Wouldn't you?"

***

Karras looked up at Gibbs with a wounded, confused look. "Agent Gibbs, I would never rape or kill anyone. I'm a man of God, and everything that I do is for Him. I'm not sure how I've become a suspect in this case, but you have to know that I did not do these horrible, horrible things. I never married so I could devote my life to God and to helping others find the Lord."

"Who said you were a suspect?" Gibbs asked, smiling a predator's smile.

Karras just raised an eyebrow. "Is this how you treat all priests?"

Gibbs felt the sting of those words, but he didn't let it show on his face. _Shannon would have my head for what I'm doing._

Gibbs' voice was even when he asked, "Do you have an alibi for Saturday, Sunday or Monday night?"

Karras' eyes went to the ceiling, thinking. "Saturday I helped out with the children's Halloween Haunted Hollows walk. I spent Sunday night alone, reviewing my sermon tapes. Monday night is bowling league."

"When did you leave the bowling alley?"

"About 9 p.m."

"Did anyone see you on the walk Saturday night?"

Karras nodded. "Plenty of people did. I could give you some names."

Gibbs slid the pad in front of Karras, who wrote down some names and then looked up at Gibbs with a thoughtful countenance. "You know, many religions don't approve of Halloween, but to me, it's a night of fun for children. And as long as the festivities stay clean and safe, I don't see how anyone could have a problem with it."

Gibbs was silent, an image of Kelly dressed as a furry little lion searing his brain.

"Do you regret not having children?" Gibbs asked suddenly.

Karras just smiled. "I have many children, Agent Gibbs."

***

DiNozzo heard the conviction in Cielo's voice. "I need to know where you were Saturday, Sunday and Monday nights."

"My daughter had a Halloween party Saturday night. My wife and I were there with her and several other children until well after midnight." He paused, thinking. "Sunday night we went to a movie, 'Where the Wild Things Are.' And then Monday, I took Danielle to her soccer game and then went for pizza with the rest of the team. We got back late because there was an accident on the beltway."

DiNozzo pushed the pad of paper across the table. "Name and numbers of people who can corroborate, please," he said, thinking wearily of the phone calls he'd have to make to prove what he already knew would check out.

***

Ziva just smiled. "Of course, _Doctor_," she said, seeing Plassmann bristle. "But you must also understand that I am trying to find a rapist and killer—one who is preying on Marines on your base. I would say my time is valuable, as well."

She blinked innocently at him. "Wouldn't you?"

Plassmann scowled. "What do you need from me?" he asked, resignedly.

Ziva produced the photos. "Do you know any of these women?"

Plassmann answered immediately. "Sgt. Sanders had a long history of mental issues. I doubt there's a mental-health professional on base who doesn't know her. But that's about all I can say, given confidentiality restrictions."

"And the others?"

"I don't know her," Plassmann said, tapping the photo of McCormick. "But I know Morgan Kessler. Lance Corporal Kessler, that is."

"How do you know her?"

"I did her psych eval when she returned from Iraq several years ago," Plassmann answered, his eyes still on the photo.

"You saw her only once?" Ziva asked, watching him stare at the picture.

Plassmann nodded, then looked up. "I know how that sounds. I saw her once, years ago, and I still remember her. I have a good memory, Officer David. It's helpful in my line of work."

"Mine, too."

Plassmann furrowed his brow. "Yes," he said slowly. "I'm sure it is."

Neither spoke for a moment.

"I remember her because of her intensity. She was wounded, two of her friends were killed, but she still had this magnetism. It's difficult to explain. She'd been through hell—like I said, she was injured—but she was already making plans to attend the memorials of her fallen friends." He paused, his own eyes intense as he studied Ziva. "It's almost sad to say, but some people are just born survivors."

Ziva watched him watching her and knew he wasn't talking about just Kessler. "I'll need alibis for Saturday, Sunday and Monday nights."

Plassmann nodded distractedly, his eyes still boring into Ziva's. "I'm afraid I don't really have any. Well, I handed out candy at my home on base Saturday night until about 8 p.m. I was alone all day Sunday, reviewing patient files. I was in the office Monday until about 7:30. Went home and spaced out in front of the TV after that."

Ziva passed a pad of paper wordlessly to him and was glad when he turned his eyes downward and started writing.


	9. Chapter 9

"Morgan?" McGee asked, his hand gentle on her shoulder.

"Mmm?" she murmured, her face stilled buried in his neck.

"I just wondered if you were awake," he said, shifting the arm that had fallen asleep under her warm body. "This movie is awful."

"Really awful," she agreed, taking the remote and switching off the TV.

They were quiet for a moment.

"How long am I going to have to stay here?"

McGee shifted again, turning to face her and wincing at the lividness of the bruises on her neck. "About that, Morgan. There's something I need to tell you."

"That doesn't sound good," she said, eyeing him warily. She wished she could just curl up beside him and sleep forever.

"My partner called while you were sleeping. He said the killer sent a note to NCIS," McGee said, hesitating and looking down at his hands.

"Spit it out, Tim," Morgan said. "I'm a Marine. I don't need you to sugarcoat anything for me."

McGee nodded, a slight blush rising on his cheeks. "It was about you. He knows you're alive and that we're guarding you. It specifically said 'She's mine.' "

Morgan blinked slowly, her eyes wide. "That son of a bitch."

"Uh, yeah," McGee stuttered, not sure what to say to that. "We have our best forensic scientist going over the note to see if we can get anything off it that might lead us to a suspect. And my team is interviewing the suspects I showed you earlier. We're gonna get this guy, Morgan."

She blinked back tears. "Before he gets me?"

***

Tony stood outside the lab and watched Abby talking a mile a minute to Ziva and Gibbs. He could see that the decorations were gone, and he pushed down a flicker of guilt and pushed open the door, hoping like hell that the hay scent would be gone.

He coughed and waved a hand in front of his face. "Holy hell, Abbs. Like air freshener much?"

"Too much?" the scientist asked, wrinkling her nose. "Sorry, I have a cold so I couldn't really tell if I had gotten rid of the smell of the … er, the offending smell. So maybe I went a little nuts with the pine fresh scent. I guess I should have gone with the flowery scent because then at least it wouldn't smell like a forest, but I thought pine would cover better and—right. The letter. Sorry Gibbs."

Gibbs just gave her a look. "Lay off the Caff-Pow, Abbs?"

"Never!" she exclaimed, then picked up the note with a pair of tweezers. "Unfortunately, I can't really tell you anything. Paper's too common, letters are cut out of a magazine and glued on with an Elmer's glue stick. Somehow I doubt you'll need to go turning the elementary schools upside down looking for your man. No prints, no trace. No nothing. Sorry, Gibbs."

Tony coughed again, put a hand on his suddenly churning belly and wondered if he'd have to add pine to the list of scents he'd have to avoid like the … well, the plague. _Curse whoever came up with _that_ damned cliché. _

Tony realized Gibbs was looking at him oddly and was about to say something witty to deflect the concern he figured was coming.

But Gibbs said, "The smell."

"I know, Gibbs," Abby said, casting a worried look at Tony. "I'm sorry but—"

"No, Abbs," Gibbs said, looking at the letter. He sniffed it. "The letter smelled like something when I opened it, but I couldn't place it."

Tony's earlier thoughts came back in a rush. "Well, the plague didn't smell like anything, but maybe we should get you checked—"

"I'm fine, DiNozzo," Gibbs cut him off. "But if we can identify the smell, then maybe it'll lead us to the killer."

Abby snorted. "Well don't look at me. Major mass-spec is good, but he can't identify smells. That's all you guys."

"All I smell is pine tree," Ziva said, sniffing the note.

Gibbs grabbed the note and went out into the hallway, where they all—feeling a little silly as they did it—sniffed the note.

"It is heavy," Ziva said slowly. "Cloying, maybe."

Tony sniffed, then cocked his head to the side, some long-forgotten memory playing hide-and-seek at the edges of his mind. "I have no idea. I don't think it's perfume."

"This is a waste of time," Gibbs grumbled, giving the note back to Abby and heading for the elevator.

Back in the squad room, Gibbs and DiNozzo settled in to check alibis while Ziva went for coffee. She re-entered the squad room just as DiNozzo was hanging up his phone.

"Cielo's out," he said. "Alibis all check out for all three nights."

Gibbs nodded, looking expectantly at Ziva, who passed cups around before settling in her chair.

"Plassmann barely has any," she said. "We've narrowed it down that Sanders and McCormick were killed after 9:30 p.m. and we know Kessler was attacked at about the same time. Plassmann had the time."

"Karras could have committed the attacks on Sunday and Monday," Gibbs said, "but he's alibied for Saturday. I just spoke with several people who saw him during the Halloween walk that night, but it was in the woods and everyone was in costume. He could have slipped out for a while without anyone noticing."

"And I doubt this is a team effort," DiNozzo said, stretching in his chair and staring at the ceiling. "McGee said Kessler didn't recognize the photos, but what if we bring her in for a lineup? We could get them to say the name 'Adelle' and see if she recognizes a voice."

"Yeah," Gibbs said, nodding. "Do it. Go pick up McGee and Kessler. Ziva, you get Plassmann and I'll grab Karras."

Ziva hurried out of the room with DiNozzo on her heels.

"DiNozzo, wait."

Tony winced at the barked command and forced his face blank as he turned back to his boss. "Yeah, Gibbs?"

"There something you want to talk to me about?" Gibbs asked.

Tony suddenly felt like a kid in the principal's office, covering for a friend. He forced a neutral tone. "About?"

"Don't play dumb, DiNozzo. It doesn't suit you."

"Thanks?" DiNozzo said, cocking his head questioningly. "But really, Boss, aside from the murderer running around out there, everything's fine."

"Even with you and McGee?"

Only years of facing his father kept Tony from wincing at the pointed question. _Gee, thanks for that, Dad. _"You know the Probie," Tony said, lifting a shoulder. "He's like a little brother. Not that I know what having a little brother is like, but I've seen enough movies to know that, as a species, they are generally annoying and you may not always like them, but—"

"Go pick 'em up, DiNozzo," Gibbs interrupted wearily.

Tony flashed a grin. "Sure thing, Boss."

***

"Chill out, Probster, it's just me," Tony said, holding his hands up in surrender as he entered the safe house to find McGee pointing a gun at him—again.

McGee holstered the weapon quickly this time. "Sorry. With the note and all…"

Tony nodded, his eyes on McGee's shirt. Only his years of mask-making kept his eyes from narrowing as he took in the misaligned buttons. _Shit._

"Where's Kessler?" Tony asked, fighting to keep his voice neutral.

"Bathroom," McGee said, his tone equally blank. "I still don't see why I couldn't just bring her in myself."

Even the expert craftsman couldn't keep from raising an eyebrow, but it didn't matter because McGee had yet to meet Tony's eyes. "Someone's out to kill her, McGee. One agent is fine for house-sitting, but Gibbs won't take a chance with less than two for transport. You know that."

A tinge of red finally crept over McGee's cheeks, but he said, "I'm not sure this is a good idea. She's been through hell and seeing these guys in a lineup, having them say that name to her, it might be too traumatic."

_You've got it bad, Probie,_ DiNozzo thought, but he said, "She's a Marine, McGee. I think she can handle it. And she agreed to do this."

McGee was saved further comment by Kessler's entrance. He simply looked at her. "Ready?"

She nodded at him and gave his partner a little smile. "Hey, Tony."

"Morgan," Tony said, watching McGee's jaw clench. "I'm sorry we don't have better accommodations for you. This place is pretty depressing."

"It's better than Baghdad," she said with a tiny smile.

He grinned his mega-watt smile back at her. "See? I knew you were a fighter."

***

Morgan stood in the observation room and watched Plassmann and Karras being led into the room on the other side of the glass. She shuddered and then felt the reassuring warmth of McGee's hand on her elbow. She slid a smile his way despite the disgust she felt knowing that the man who had raped her might be standing mere feet away.

She didn't miss the twitch in DiNozzo's jaw at McGee's touch. She hoped he hadn't noticed when McGee slipped away earlier to re-button his shirt after she'd noticed their mistake. DiNozzo seemed pretty sharp, but she also knew that he cared for McGee. She hoped if he had noticed that he wouldn't say anything. The last thing she wanted was to get Tim into trouble.

Morgan forced her attention back to the men in the interrogation room and looked them over carefully. She studied their faces and gave a little gasp of recognition.

"Morgan," McGee said. "Do you recognize one of them?"

"Yes," Morgan said, images of the brutal attack assaulting her senses. She was shaking and McGee moved closer to her. She didn't miss the daggers DiNozzo was sending at the junior agent.

"Do you need to sit down?" Tim asked.

She shook her head and sighed in frustration, her mind clearing as she shoved away the memories of the attack. "I know Dr. Plassmann, but it's because he treated me after I got back from combat a few years ago. I didn't recognize him from the picture, but it's definitely him."

McGee tried not to let his disappointment show on his face. DiNozzo did a much better job. He said, "It's okay, Morgan. Just because he had previous contact with you doesn't mean he's off the hook. In fact, that could be a strike against him. I'm going to have each of them say the name for you, and I want you to listen carefully and see if you recognize a voice. We can have them repeat it if you need them to."

She shuddered, but said, "Okay. Let's get this over with."

DiNozzo nodded and left, entering the other room a moment later. Each man spoke the name "Adelle" once, both looking nervous and confused.

McGee looked to Morgan, but she shook her head. Her lip trembled when she said, "I… I don't know. Can you have them do it again?"

McGee nodded and pressed the intercom. Again, the men repeated the name, but Morgan just shook her head, sighing in frustration.

"Take your time," McGee said gently, still holding her arm.

"Maybe if I… Could I go in there, with them?" Morgan asked.

McGee started to say no, but the look in her dark eyes pulled at his heart. He pressed the intercom and asked Gibbs to join them. He let Morgan ask.

Gibbs looked wearily at McGee.

"Her picture has been all over the news," McGee argued her case for her. "I don't see what it could hurt."

"The killer also sent a note claiming her, McGee," Gibbs said, watching Kessler. "If one of those men is our killer, then I'm not sure putting her in a room with them is a good idea."

McGee's eyes widened. "You think he would…"

"No," Gibbs cut him off. He looked hard at Kessler. "You sure you want to do this?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

Gibbs' lips twitched at the Marine's automatic response. "Come with me."


	10. Chapter 10

When things go to hell, they tend to get there rather quickly.

One second, Kessler was standing in front of Plassmann, listening to him speak that vile name, and the next, Plassmann was face down on the table, his arm wrenched up behind his back by a very angry Agent McGee.

"Do _not_ touch her," McGee said sharply.

"I just… I wanted to tell her how sorry I am that this happened!" Plassmann cried, his voice muffled by cold steel.

Meanwhile, DiNozzo pulled Karras out of the chaos of the room, and Gibbs pulled McGee off Plassmann.

The psychologist straightened, looking straight at Kessler, who stood trembling across the table, a protective Ziva at her side. "I'm sorry, Morgan. I remember you from all those years ago, and I'm sorry that this has happened to you."

She nodded, then allowed Ziva to lead her from the room.

"May I go now?" Plassmann asked Gibbs, who nodded and jerked his toward the door. Plassmann gave McGee a glare and left the room, leaving McGee and Gibbs.

"Want to tell me what that was all about?" Gibbs asked.

McGee tugged the sleeves of his jacket down. "What you said, about putting her in the room with a killer… I guess I just overreacted."

Gibbs was silent a moment. Then he said, "Ya think, McGee?"

***

The team gathered in the squad room, all looking tired and frustrated, and trying not to let Kessler see the depths of those feelings. It was late Wednesday night, but it had already been a long week.

Gibbs told DiNozzo and McGee to go home, that he and Ziva would take Kessler back to the safe house where she would spend the night with Agent Woodson.

Once that trio had left, Tony looked over at McGee, who sighed in relief.

Tony would have been amused had he not had the image in his head of misaligned buttons and McGee slamming a suspect on a table. He rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't know why he didn't chew you out, either, Probie, but don't look a gift horse in the mouth, you know?"

McGee didn't speak. He just gathered his things and headed for the door. Tony caught up with him at the elevator. "You want to grab some dinner?"

"Not really," McGee said, not looking at his partner. "I just want to go home."

"Just a drink?" Tony pressed, wanting to have some time to talk with the junior agent. "I'll buy."

McGee stepped onto the elevator and turned to face Tony, who hadn't moved. "I said no, DiNozzo."

Tony let the doors slide close on McGee without a word. He sighed tiredly. The talk would have to wait.

***

Gibbs walked into the squad room the next morning and almost spit out his coffee at the sight of his senior agent already at his desk and on the phone. Gibbs found himself checking DiNozzo's face for signs of pain—he had experience with the lingering effects of knee injuries, and he'd wrecked his only _once_.

But all he found in the green eyes was fatigue, and he wondered how long DiNozzo had been here. Gibbs knew he'd gone home at some point because he'd changed his clothes. Gibbs noted the somber black suit and dark shirt and tie and wondered why DiNozzo had chosen this particular armor. It never failed: The sharper the clothes, the more distressed DiNozzo was.

Before Gibbs could wonder any more about DiNozzo—and the possible connection to his other male agent's behavior—the phone on his desk rang. DiNozzo was just hanging up his own and their eyes met for a fraction of a second, but that was all that was needed.

"Yeah, where?" Gibbs said into the phone before listening for a moment and hanging up. He found green eyes watching him.

"Another one," DiNozzo said, not needing Gibbs' nod for a confirmation.

"Definitely dead this time?" Tony asked, a fine shiver running down his back at seeing Morgan recoiling from his touch all over again.

"Definitely dead," Gibbs said, grabbing his badge and gun. He handed Tony the scrap of paper with the location. "Call Ziva and have her meet us there. McGee, too. Woodson can stay with Kessler a little longer."

DiNozzo hesitated for a tiny moment. "Maybe we shouldn't mess up the schedule, Boss. Routine is all Kessler has right now."

Gibbs nodded, watching his agent closely. "All right. We'll do without McGee then."

***

"Hey, McGee," Woodson greeted him.

"Good morning," McGee greeted, wondering where Morgan was.

"Bed," Woodson answered the silent question. A frown tugged at her features. "She had a pretty rough night. Woke up screaming at least three times."

McGee shook his head. "I knew that lineup was a bad idea."

Woodson put a sympathetic hand on McGee's arm and left. McGee locked the door behind her and made his way down the hall to the back bedroom. Morgan was curled up on her side, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

"Tim!" she cried. "I'm so glad you're here."

He shrugged out of his jacket and put his gun on the nightstand, his heart breaking for her. He sat on the bed and let her melt against his side. He murmured softly into her dark hair and stroked circles on her back.

"Everything is going to be okay," he said softly, wincing as his phone began vibrating.

She cried softly against his chest while he spoke. He hung up the phone and wrapped his arms tighter around her.

"What is it, Tim? What's wrong?"

"Another woman was killed," he said, remembering her admonishments when he tried to sugarcoat the truth. "Female Marine, beaten, raped and strangled. They found her body on base this morning."

Morgan shuddered, her small frame trembling in McGee's arms. "Are you going to have to leave?" she asked, her voice frightened and small.

"No, I'm staying right here," McGee said. "My team is good—the best. They'll be fine without me."

McGee held Morgan and tried not to think about the look that had crossed Tony's face the previous night right before those elevator doors shut. He felt a tiny bit guilty about brushing off Tony's obvious concern, but he was an adult and didn't need a babysitter. Or a heart-to-heart with his overly concerned partner. McGee could handle it.

All thoughts of Tony and his team disappeared as Morgan began crying again, her broken sobs pulling at his heartstrings.

***

"How much of that is real blood?" Ziva asked, eyeing the posed body of the latest victim, who was dressed as a vampire and covered in a sticky red substance.

"I'd say all of it," Ducky said, kneeling beside the young, blond Marine. "I'd say cause of death was strangulation again, but the throat was cut post-mortem. Likely to stage this ugly scene."

"Time?" Gibbs asked, watching DiNozzo pull an ID out of the woman's boot.

"Between 10 and midnight last night," Ducky answered. "Who is our poor girl, Anthony?"

DiNozzo paled as he read the name on the ID, his eyes flicking back and forth between the photo and the body. "PFC Celia Blackburn," he said, trying hard not to choke on the name.

Ducky was suddenly standing at his elbow. "Are you all right, Anthony?"

DiNozzo met Gibbs' eyes and watched the realization flood the icy-blue orbs. "Goddammit!"

Ducky still looked perplexed, so Tony said, "She was a running buddy of a previous victim. I interviewed her—twice. And we used…" He had to stop. He took a deep breath and the overwhelming coppery scent of blood had him swallowing hard. He pressed a fist to his mouth. _Hell, I haven't puked at a scene since I was a rookie_.

"I used her clothing when we set up the bait the other night," Ziva said, shuddering. "I wore her clothing," she said again softly.

"He's playing with us," Gibbs spat. "He saw our set-up and chose not to take the bait."

"It's gotta be either Plassmann or Karras, right?" DiNozzo asked, and Ducky was glad to see that some of the color had returned to his cheeks. "But why did he take Tuesday off?"

"If it's Plassmann or Karras," Ziva said, "that means he left the lineup and went straight to kill."

"Probably took Tuesday off from the shock of leaving Kessler alive," Ducky said. "That would be my guess. And it's likely that you angered the killer and now he's changing his method, making it more gruesome."

Tony stood staring down at the woman with whom he'd flirted just days earlier. He tried not to think of that smiling young face, but he could hear her voice, her musical laughter, and his gut twisted. He was glad he'd skipped breakfast. He leaned down suddenly, his eagle eyes catching sight of a single hair standing out against the long black dress.

"Boss," he called, fighting to keep the giddiness out of his voice. "I've got a hair."


	11. Chapter 11

"What the hell do you mean it's going to take a day?" Gibbs growled, but his volume was anything but low.

Abby, to her credit, didn't flinch, and Tony would have grinned at her if he wasn't just as upset at the delay.

"I told you, Gibbs," she said through clenched teeth. Her patience was wearing thin, and she had a lot of work to do. "You'll get a result on the hair, but not until tomorrow. The case involving national security trumps yours. I'm under strict orders from the director to finish processing that evidence before I can get to yours."

"He's killing Marines, Abby," Gibbs yelled.

"And you shouting at Abby isn't going to help, Gibbs," DiNozzo said from where he leaned against the shiny steel table. His posture was a study in casualness, but his tone was firm. "Let her get back to work and you'll get results a hell of a lot faster."

Gibbs turned slowly, his eyes blazing, to face his senior agent. Tony didn't even blink.

"And if he kills someone else tonight?" Gibbs asked, his voice low, the rage in it unmistakable. He had stepped closer to DiNozzo, who saw Ziva tense beside him.

DiNozzo returned the icy glare with a level look even as he felt his boss's hot breath on his face. "We issue a warning to the base, just as we have every night this week. And we hope those Marines have enough sense to follow it."

No one in the room missed Gibbs' hands balling into fists at his sides. No one breathed as the Marine glared at his stone-faced agent. Abby's lip trembled, and Ziva readied herself to intervene in case Gibbs actually hit him.

"I want this guy as bad as you do, Boss," DiNozzo said, his voice not showing even a hint of the thousand emotions roiling inside him. "And in 24 hours, we'll have him. It's the best we can do."

Gibbs just glared. Finally, his hands uncurled and he took a step back. "Go home, DiNozzo."

Tony finally blinked. "What? No, I —"

Gibbs blew out a breath. "Woodson can't pull protection detail tonight. Someone has to relieve McGee, and I'm appointing you. Go home."

DiNozzo just nodded, wondering if he was being punished for standing up to the boss or if Gibbs was sending him away for other reasons. _Like so he doesn't clock you?_

Abby watched her friend walk out of her lab, wanting to thank him but smart enough not to. She made a mental note to talk to him later as she buried herself back in her work.

***

Tony walked to his car, wondering how he was going to make himself sleep this early in the afternoon—and with the myriad thoughts swirling through his head. _I should have just refused, told Gibbs to stick it. Oh, no, wait. I _did_ tell Gibbs to stick it… kind of. _He shook the thoughts from his head, sliding the key into the door lock.

"Hey."

He stopped and looked up. "I forget something?"

Ziva shook her head. "No. I just wanted you to know… It was nice what you did for Abby."

Tony shrugged. "Abby can handle Gibbs. Better than any of us, really."

"Then why did you step in?" Ziva asked, walking toward Tony and running her hand along the smooth metal of his car.

"Just because she can handle him doesn't mean she should have to. We all know she'll be up all night, and all the Caf-Pow in the world won't erase the circles under her eyes."

Ziva looked up from the car to his face, and he realized she bore the same marks of tiredness. "How are you doing, Ziva?" he asked gently, dropping his bag beside the car.

She didn't answer. He moved closer and flinched when she raised her hands defensively. "I am fine," she said, seeing the concern in his eyes.

"Really, Ziva?" he asked, his tone still soft, his hand itching to touch her. "A case with strong women being raped, beaten and murdered doesn't affect you? You may be able to fool others with your heart-of-stone routine, but I know this one's hard on you. I know _you._"

He saw something dark flash through her pretty brown eyes. "Really, Tony? And what about you? Baiting Gibbs like that and then just standing there, waiting for him to hit you?"

"He didn't hit me."

"But you did not know that he wouldn't," she returned.

"Didn't I?"

She looked at him hard, then sighed. She smiled slightly. "You are very good, you know? If I did not know you, I would never have known what you must have been thinking then. You are a good person, Tony, to stand up for your friend like that."

He didn't smile, just watched her with concern. "It's going to be okay, Ziva. We're going to get this bastard."

"I know," she said softly but with conviction. She smiled and touched his elbow. "Go get some sleep. It is going to be a long night."

***

DiNozzo approached the safe house, still thinking about Ziva. He was hoping she would keep it together when they finally made an arrest. His thoughts turned to McGee and he saw those misaligned buttons flash in front of his eyes as he opened the door. That disconcerting image did not prepare him for what he saw, though, happening live in front of him.

Tony stopped, stood stock-still. He was shocked.

"McGee?" The name was a question, the tone disbelieving.

"Shit!" McGee swore, pocketing the tiny packet of pills that DiNozzo recognized as Ecstasy.

Tony watched McGee stand and turn to face him. He sometimes forgot that the Probie was about the same height as him.

"What the hell are you doing, Probie?"

McGee laughed in his face. "Sorry, I didn't realize you were my dad."

"I'm your partner, McGee," Tony said, disappointment and anger coloring his tone. "You're a federal agent. A drug-tested federal agent. What the fuck are you thinking?"

McGee's eyes slid to Morgan, who got up silently and retreated to a back bedroom.

"Well, yeah, Probie," Tony said, following McGee's eyes. "I kind of figured that."

"What's that supposed to mean?" McGee asked, stepping closer to his partner. "You think I'm sleeping with her?"

"I know you are," Tony returned, meeting McGee's blazing eyes, "but that's not the point." He paused, then shook his head. "You know what? Never mind. I'm going to go. Tell Gibbs whatever you want. Tell him I'm sick and you offered to stay. Do whatever you want, Probie."

Tony turned to leave, leaving McGee struggling with what to make of his partner's weary tone. Had McGee been thinking clearly, he would have just let DiNozzo leave. Instead, he said, "I don't get it, Tony. You nail everything that moves, but you can't get that I like her? What, she too smart for you? Too strong?"

Tony stilled, still half-facing the door. He didn't speak, didn't turn.

"I thought you like smart women? I mean, you sure fell for Jeanne."

Tony turned, his face completely unreadable. "I know what you're doing. But I'm not going to lash out at you. Even if it would ease some of your guilt."

"And just what should I be feeling guilty about?" McGee asked, practically shouting.

"Nothing, McGee. I'm leaving."

Tony turned back to the door, stopping only when he felt McGee's hand clamp around his elbow. Tony turned—slowly, deliberately, his eyes burning.

"Take your hand off me," he said, deadly calm, deadly quiet.

"And if I say no?" McGee challenged.

Tony surprised him by sighing wearily. He lifted his hands slowly, palms outward. "You wanna hit me, Tim? Hit me."

McGee hesitated, his hand dropping from Tony's arm.

"Where's all that anger now, Probie? Or did the X just kick in and mellow you out?"

McGee's fist came up so fast that Tony didn't have time to duck. His knuckles caught his partner just under his left eye, splitting the skin over his cheekbone. By the time Tony tasted the blood running down his face, he had McGee flat on his back, pinned to the shabby carpet, with his knees on either side of his chest and a wrist in each hand.

"Stop, Tim. Stop struggling," Tony said as his partner writhed beneath him. McGee was snarling, screaming at him to get off. "Not until you calm down."

"Get the fuck off me, DiNozzo," McGee screamed, his face red with the effort of trying to throw the senior agent off. "I swear to God, Tony, if you don't get off me—"

"You'll do what, Probie?" DiNozzo asked, losing patience. He licked at the blood on his face so it wouldn't drip onto McGee's. McGee struggled harder and DiNozzo's knee was aching from his kneeling position, but he ignored it and kept McGee pinned firmly. "Stop. McGee, stop. Quit struggling. Calm down."

A drop of blood slipped from DiNozzo's face and landed on McGee's cheek. The struggling instantly stopped. DiNozzo got to his feet, suppressing a groan at the twinge in his knee. He still held McGee's wrists and pulled the younger agent to his feet. McGee wiped the blood from his face, shoved his handkerchief into Tony's hands and turned away.

McGee saw Morgan standing in the shadows of the hallway. She met his eyes for a quick moment, then turned and walked back to the bedroom.

Tony watched her go. He didn't miss the fleeting look of despair that flitted across McGee's face. He pressed the handkerchief to his bleeding cheek and said, "Listen, Prob… Tim. I know you're upset. Things are pretty intense right now, but I want you to take a minute and think about what's important."

McGee was silent, but he had turned slightly while Tony spoke. He flinched when his partner wadded up the bloody square and stuck it in his pocket. Fresh blood beaded along the split skin, and Tim could see the swelling that had already begun to puff up around his eye.

"I'll, uh, wash this and give it back," Tony said, breaking into McGee's guilty thoughts. The senior agent was silent, watching the parade of emotions crossing his partner's open-as-a-book face.

McGee watched Tony watching him and was suddenly struck by a thought that made him even queasier than the line of bright red blood he couldn't take his eyes off. _I hurt him,_ McGee thought, thinking over what he knew about Tony's childhood. _I'm no better than the monster that beat the crap out of him back then._

"You okay, Tim?" DiNozzo asked when the silence that stretched seemed unlikely to resolve itself. "Tell me what you need. I'll stay. Or I can go, if that's what you want."

McGee laughed, then clamped a guilty hand over his mouth. _Leave it to DiNozzo to stand there bleeding and ask _me_ if I'm okay. To ask what _I_ need. _He cursed the stupid decision he'd made to take the drug Morgan offered. The weight of that decision—and the possible ramifications—hit him with a suddenness that made his knees go weak.

"Easy, Tim. It's okay," Tony was saying, guiding him toward the couch before his knees gave out completely.

"Oh, shit, Tony," was all McGee could manage as he stared wide-eyed at the blood on his partner's face. "Oh, shit."

The corner of Tony's mouth quirked up despite McGee's obvious distress. "It'll be fine, Probie. We were just tested. It'll be out of your system by the time they test us again."

Tony watched that sink in. His tone wasn't gentle when he said, "You got lucky. This time."

If asked later, McGee would blame his next actions on the drugs. He huffed out a breath and shoved away Tony's hand that had been resting reassuringly on his knee. "Yeah, I get it, DiNozzo. I messed up. I don't need you to tell me that."

McGee stalked off toward the back bedrooms, and DiNozzo sighed. He had really thought he was getting somewhere tonight. He simply got up and went for the door, exhausted from the sleepless night and long day that followed. Then he remembered the note from the killer: "She's mine." He couldn't leave Kessler there with an impaired agent. He pulled his cell and called Agent Woodson, giving her an excuse and intimating at a promise to get a drink sometime to make it up to her.

"Can you teach me that?"

DiNozzo almost jumped at the soft voice behind him. He turned to face Morgan. "Teach you what?"

"How to erase the emotion from your eyes, your face. You were pissed off—I mean furious—a minute ago, and now you're just … blank."

"I'm pissed at him. You're not the target of my anger, and I'm not going to take it out on you."

"Why aren't you mad at me? My drugs, my suggestion. I know it isn't exactly PC to ream a rape victim, but really, what do I have to do piss you off?"

He looked at her, trying to look past the bruises and the wildness in her eyes. He decided to be honest with her. "You already have. But I'm not your father, not your CO. I'm not going to scream at you. Or lecture you. It's not my place."

She was silent, waiting for him to finish. So he did. "But McGee is my partner. He's my friend. And he's also head-over-heels for you. I'd appreciate it if you would consider that before offering him any more 'suggestions.' "

She looked down at that, took a deep breath and winced at the pain. She met his eyes and said, "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Don't tell me," Tony said, suddenly hearing his boss's voice. "Tell him."


	12. Chapter 12

It was just after midnight when Gibbs heard the familiar squeak of his front door and soft footsteps moving across his kitchen floor. There was silence, then, and Gibbs could almost see DiNozzo paused at the head of the basement staircase.

"Too late, DiNozzo, I already heard you," Gibbs called.

Tony closed his eyes, resting his head against the smooth wood of the door. He took a deep breath and descended the stairs, leaning against the rail at the bottom. "Hey, Boss."

Gibbs just nodded, sanding and watching his senior agent from the corner of his eye. "Drink?" he offered, seeing Tony's eyes on the bottle on the workbench.

"No, thanks," Tony said softly. He gave Gibbs a lopsided grin that contrasted sharply with the bleakness in his eyes. "Nowhere to pour the rest of it out."

Gibbs actually smiled at that, thinking back to a night at his agent's home when DiNozzo had admitted that he always took one sip and tossed the rest. He didn't say anything, though. He just crossed the room and poured himself a drink. He took a slow sip, noting that DiNozzo hadn't bothered to change as he usually did for these late-night visits. The younger agent still wore the black suit he'd worn all day, but as Gibbs watched, he took the tie from his neck and Gibbs smiled, hoping he'd lose the jacket, too.

As if reading his mind, DiNozzo shucked the suit jacket and tossed it on the stair before rolling his sleeves up his forearms. He saw Gibbs wince when the expensive material hit the dusty stair.

"That's what dry cleaners are for," Tony said. He took a slow breath. "I wish they would work as well in my head."

Gibbs nodded sympathetically, willing his friend to talk about those images, about the woman he'd found hanging in his beloved barn.

Tony watched Gibbs' face and knew he was picturing his mother.

All Tony saw was McGee with his hands around Morgan's neck, McGee pocketing the pills.

Gibbs just waited, willing his agent to speak.

After a few moments of silence, Tony said, "I wish I had your gut, Gibbs." He sighed, the look in his eyes one that no man his age should be able to pull off.

"I could make a joke about your candy bar habit," Gibbs said, studying his visitor and wondering where the comment had come from.

Tony didn't smile. Gibbs poured a tiny splash of bourbon into a second glass. He crossed the basement and forced the glass into his agent's hands. "So you won't have any left to pour out," he said gruffly.

Tony didn't drink. He turned the glass slowly in his hands, watching the light reflect off the amber liquid swirling inside. Gibbs suddenly felt awkward and moved to take the glass back, but DiNozzo anticipated the movement, downed the alcohol with a wince and deposited the glass smoothly into Gibbs' outstretched hand. "Thanks, Boss."

Gibbs went back to the workbench and picked up his own glass. It didn't escape his notice that DiNozzo breathed easier as soon as he was out of his space.

"So you didn't come for the booze," Gibbs said, watching Tony wind his tie tightly through his clenched hands. "And you sure as hell didn't come to build a boat." He paused, watching Tony for a reaction and feeling dismayed when he got none. His tone was gentle when he asked, "So what's on your mind, Tony?"

_My partner's going to go down in flames if he stays around our rape victim much longer. If he hasn't fucked up already by doing drugs with her—yeah, our McGee, drugs. I know. And I can't help feeling like it's my fault. I'm the senior agent. I saw what she was doing to him. And I did nothing. _

_But I can't tell you that without ratting out poor confused, overwhelmed McGee._

Gibbs just waited, watching his agent struggle, watching him twist the tie between white-knuckled hands so hard Gibbs thought it might come apart—the tie, not his agent, though Gibbs started to doubt that as the seconds ticked into minutes and DiNozzo did not speak.

"This have something to do with the black eye you're trying to hide by staying in the shadows?"

_Shit._ Tony reached up and felt the sliver of dried blood that had crusted over the cut on his cheekbone. A part of him knew it hurt, the same part that knew his vision was slightly blurred by the swelling around his eye. But that part of him had been forcibly shoved away as soon as McGee had hit him. He wondered briefly what McGee had told Gibbs when he'd called. Or if he'd called.

Gibbs brushed by him and disappeared upstairs. _Great, now I've pissed him off, too. I should just go. _Tony struggled to remember a time when things had been this messed up. Not only did the probie have issues, but he knew Ziva was struggling, too, and it weighed on him. It scared him that he had no idea what to do—for either of them.

He heard footsteps behind him. "Boss, I—"

Gibbs deposited the ice pack into his hands. "Keep that on your face so you'll have a shot in hell of being able to see straight tomorrow."

Tony obeyed the order and settled the bag against his swollen cheek, flinching at either the coldness or the pain—he wasn't sure which. He was silent again while Gibbs methodically rubbed the sandpaper against the wood of his boat.

When the older man spoke, Tony was shocked by Gibbs' words, his gentle tone. "And it's all right, Tony. You don't have to talk. Just relax, okay? I'm sure you'll work it out, whatever it is."

Gibbs was just as shocked when DiNozzo actually shuddered at his words. He thought back to Tony standing steadily in the face of his rage earlier and couldn't imagine how his kind words had managed to cause such a reaction. It reminded him—as if he needed a reminder—of just how deeply scarred DiNozzo was.

Gibbs poured a healthy spot of alcohol into the abandoned glass and put it into DiNozzo's hands, letting the contact linger for a second, conveying his support with a look. He saw the storm raging the green eyes settle just a fraction, and he turned back to the boat.

"You pour that on my floor and I'll shoot you."

***

Tony came awake slowly the following morning, refusing to open his eyes and unleash the full onslaught of the massive headache he knew was coming. He was reminded all over again the many benefits of not drinking.

But last night had been good for him, just sitting in Gibbs' basement, for once not feeling the burning need to fill the silence. He finally opened his eyes and realized with a start that he wasn't in his own bed. He recognized Gibbs' guest room and tried to recall the end of the evening through the pain searing his eyeballs.

_Gibbs had been sanding for a long time. Tony had drained the bourbon and gotten a refill… or three?_

"_McGee and I had a little disagreement," Tony was surprised to find himself saying._

_Gibbs stopped sanding and turned to look at DiNozzo, whose eye had swollen almost shut since he'd abandoned the ice pack in favor of the equally numbing alcohol. "The Probie did that?"_

_Tony smiled, then winced at the pain in his cheek. He was surprised he could still feel the injury through his haze of alcohol. "Yep. Our little Timmy has been hiding a hell of a right hook."_

_Gibbs leaned into the boat to hide his grin. It was short-lived, however, when he glanced back and saw the damage to Tony's face. He didn't have time to wonder at the emotional toll because suddenly McGee's recent behavior clicked. _

"_Hell, DiNozzo," he said, dropping the sandpaper and moving to stand in front of his agent, who still sat on the bottom stair, his long legs bent with his arms resting on his knees. Gibbs recognized the defensive position for what it was and marveled at DiNozzo's tolerance. The man shouldn't be feeling _anything_ considering the amount of alcohol Gibbs had plied him with._

_Tony looked up and saw concern where he had expected disappointment. He shivered a little and dropped his eyes back to his drink. _

"_Why didn't you come to me?"_

_The shiver turned to full-on shaking and Tony drained the glass before he spilled it. _

"_You were protecting McGee," Gibbs answered for him._

_Tony set the glass aside and stood, swaying unsteadily on his feet. "I gotta go," he said, realizing the words were slightly slurred._

"_You gonna walk home?" Gibbs asked, resisting the urge to reach out and steady the younger man._

"_I'll call a cab."_

"_Stay, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, and Tony had to seriously work to fight the ridiculous urge to start barking like a dog. "You know where everything is."_

_Tony nodded and made his way up the stairs, concentrating too hard on remaining upright to even feel embarrassed. _

Embarrassment warred with the monster headache trying to claw its way out of Tony's head as realized he had passed out on top of the comforter but was covered with a soft blanket. His shivers returned at images of how it had gotten there. He berated himself for being so stupid as to get drunk at his boss's home, especially considering the frequency with which he awoke screaming. He just hoped like hell that his dead mother, his drunk, abusive father and Kate with her warm spray of blood had stayed away last night.

He looked out the window and realized it was still dark. He checked his watch. 0500. _Good. If I go now, I can probably sneak out— Really, DiNozzo? You're gonna sneak out of _Gibbs'_ house? I must still be drunk._

Regardless, he tossed the blanket off, folded it neatly and left it on the foot of the bed. He tiptoed down the hallway and breathed a sigh of relief as he closed the front door behind him.

Gibbs stood stock-still in the kitchen, his finger hovering over the on button on his coffee machine, and listened to his agent creeping through the semi-dark house. He hoped DiNozzo was okay to drive after all that alcohol and a couple hours' sleep.

He heard the front door close, and he hit the button and began waiting for the fresh aroma of the much-needed coffee. It was going to be a long day.


	13. Chapter 13

He stood staring at his own blood in the mirror.

As soon as he got home, he had changed into running clothes and made the mistake of stopping at the bathroom sink to brush his teeth to rid his mouth of the stale taste of yesterday's alcohol. If only it still burned. He had ripped the scab off the cut on his cheekbone trying to clean the wound.

So now he stood, staring, watching himself bleed.

He could have a flashback of a beating from his youth, but there were so many memories that they all just jumbled into one big, bloody mess.

He stood. Staring at his 10-year-old self, watching him bleed.

He whirled away from the mirror with a cry comprised of equal parts rage, pain, grief and frustration. He found his sneakers, shoved them on and bolted out the door.

He hadn't planned on taking the long route, but he somehow found himself collapsing on a park bench miles from his apartment. He was physically spent, but he still felt like screaming until his voice gave out just as his legs had.

He didn't scream, though. He just stood, wincing at the sharp pain in his abused knee—the damaged joint shrieking in a way he never would.

He started the long walk back home, trying to concentrate on not limping and not on the thousand thoughts vying for his tired mind's attention.

It didn't work.

He had no desire to drag himself to work. To see McGee and his guilt when he saw the damage his fist had caused. To see Ziva and lie to her—and let her lie to him. To see Gibbs and try not to imagine him covering his drunk, worthless, passed-out form with that soft blanket. To see Abby and have to tell her he's fine, it doesn't hurt, and there's no need to kill McGee for him. To see Ducky—at all.

The only thing that drove him back to his apartment, to a hot shower and a sharp suit, to the office and his co-workers was simple: justice.

Today, they were going to nail the bastard who took what was not his to take, who hit as though no one had to feel it, who choked until no one did.

Today, the bastard would know what it meant to be taken _from._


	14. Chapter 14

Ziva ran, unknowingly mirroring her partner's actions—and his turmoil. Were the District not such a sprawling metropolis, they might have passed each other. Who knows, maybe they did. Neither was in a frame of mind to notice, though.

"_It's okay to be human,"_ Tony had told her earlier that week. Her training told her otherwise. _Training. Ha. More like programming,_ she thought in an impressive use of her extensive language skills.

She continued to run, bypassing a shortcut with disdain. She hardly needed the exercise—she knew she was in perfect shape—but her head could use the extra miles. She found herself thinking that people would need far fewer psychiatrists' couches if they got off the ones in their living rooms.

Besides, keeping in tip-top physical condition was beneficial in her line of work. Made it easier to catch speedy criminals—and harder to be broken by ones who wanted information. If the body was strong, that left only the mind to be cracked.

Her pace quickened as she forcibly closed her mind to her previous experiences with torture—at least to the times she had been on the receiving end of it. To go there was to willingly walk back into hell. So she didn't. Instead, she focused on what she'd like to do to the scumbag they were pursuing.

She could deal with killers—had been for a long time. Working a murder was never easy, but there was something about this case that made it different—that had been robbing her of sweet sleep. She knew it was the rapes, a fate sometimes worse than death. She had seen the hollowness in Morgan's eyes, and she was glad Gibbs had kept her off protection detail for the most part. She wondered if he was doing it purposely. She supposed so since Gibbs and randomness were wholly incompatible.

McGee and Morgan, on the other hand, were a different story. She had not missed the sparks between them and had fought the urge to warn him that getting involved with her was a bad idea.

But she did not think it was her place. Ziva returned to her apartment. McGee and Morgan aside, apart from training and torture, one thing was certain: They had a killer to catch.

***

Gibbs walked into the squad room, reining in an exasperated sigh at the sight of his senior agent already at his desk, reading a file with one hand pressed firmly to his right temple. Gibbs could only imagine the wicked hangover DiNozzo was fighting.

More troubling, though, was the amount of swelling around DiNozzo's left eye. Gibbs swung around and went back the way he had come. He returned moments later with a bag of ice, which he dropped on DiNozzo's desk as he passed.

Tony jerked as if Gibbs had dropped a bag of live serpents in front of him.

"No excuses, DiNozzo."

Tony sighed and settled the ice gingerly against his cheek.

"Attaboy," Gibbs said, studying his agent's pale, bruised face. "Can you even read that?"

DiNozzo glared at him—as best as he could with his eye swollen half-shut. He was saved from answering by McGee's and Ziva's arrivals. Ziva blinked in surprise when she saw his injury, but the silent warning from Gibbs kept her from commenting.

McGee wouldn't look at him.

"No bodies this morning?" Ziva asked, drawing clear and accurate conclusions from the tension in the room and the slight abrasions on McGee's knuckles.

"Nope," Gibbs answered, his eyes locked on McGee's, which were staring intently at his computer screen.

"Can we just start over?" Tony asked wearily, his fingers still jammed against his throbbing temple.

McGee's eyes shot up at that and met Tony's for a split-second before dropping back to his keyboard. The guilt in his wide eyes at the sight of the damage he'd caused was almost audible, but he did not speak.

"We're missing something," Tony said. "Or he's changing. He started with one killing a day—Saturday, Sunday, Monday—but then nothing Tuesday or Thursday. What if he has somewhere else to be those nights? Is there anything in Karras' or Plassmann's schedules like that?"

The team shuffled papers and shook their heads.

"The costumes have changed, too," Ziva said. "They started as little-girl things—princess, angel and fairy—then moved to the bloody vampire. And there was not a shred of forensic evidence at the first three scenes, but then he leaves a hair at the fourth."

"One thing he's not changing is the descending ranks," Gibbs said, sipping coffee and still studying McGee, who seemed to be unaware of the conversation going on around him. Gibbs fought the urge to haul him out of the room and yell at him until he got himself together. But that was the way to fix DiNozzo, not McGee.

"Does that mean there is one victim to go? A private?" Ziva mused aloud. "But if he is enjoying raping, beating and killing these women, why put a limit on it?"

"What if it's not a limit?" DiNozzo asked, dropping his hands and forgetting about his aching head. "What if he's leading us to something… to someone?"

"You think the rank and the costumes are clues?" Gibbs asked, realizing McGee was typing furiously.

"You need to see this, Boss," the junior agent said. Maybe McGee didn't need fixing after all.

McGee tapped a button and nodded to the plasma.

"Facebook, McGeek?" Tony said, his tone light. "Now's probably a bad time to see if Megan Fox accepted your friend request."

"Tony," McGee said, rolling his eyes—but the relief in them at the nickname and DiNozzo's levity was almost palpable.

"Okay, okay, so you're more of an Optimus Prime kind of guy. I get it."

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs barked, but he was glad to notice the tension ebbing from the room.

"This is Rebecca Donaghy's Facebook page," McGee said. "It's a social networking site, Boss. People can send and receive messages from friends, and post pictures, play games, all kinds of things."

"Donaghy?" Gibbs said, his eyes on the face of the pretty, dark-haired young woman on the screen. "As in Robert Donaghy, the Secretary of the Navy? His daughter?"

Tony coughed. "You might be safer stalking Megan Fox, McGoo. Even though I hear she's nuttier than squirrel shi…sorry, Boss."

"I'm not stalking her, Tony," McGee said, scrolling through Rebecca's friend list and pointing to a familiar name. "She goes to school with my sister. I picked them up from a Halloween party and they were talking about their old costumes. It didn't register until now."

Tony blinked. "Rebecca's a private in the Marine ROTC program."

"Look at her photos," Ziva said, stepping closer to the screen. "Here."

McGee tapped and brought up an album of Halloween photos spanning the teenager's life. The last five photos showed Rebecca dressed as a princess, angel, fairy, vampire and zombie.

"She was a zombie this year," Ziva said, looking at the days-old photo. "What does that mean?"

"That we need to find her before this guy makes her dead—for real," Gibbs said, picking up the phone. He spoke with the director and hung up the phone just as DiNozzo did the same with his and Abby streaked into the bullpen.

"Karras has a sealed juvenile record," DiNozzo said.

"The hair is Plassmann's," Abby said.

"Rebecca Donaghy is missing," Gibbs said. "Vance just got the call from the SecNav."


	15. Chapter 15

"What's in the juvenile record?" Gibbs demanded, holding up a hand as if signaling "one at a time."

"Um, sealed?" Tony said, repeating himself.

"Get it unsealed then," Gibbs barked.

"Um, who cares, Boss?" McGee asked. "The hair is Plassmann's."

"So he is the killer, right?" Ziva ventured.

"I don't like it," Tony said. "Not a trace of forensic evidence and then a hair magically appears, as if dropped from heaven?"

"Perhaps we rattled him during the interrogation. We know he left here and went to kill PFC Blackburn immediately," Ziva said. "He made a mistake."

"Or there's something in this sealed file that points to Karras," Tony said.

"You didn't let me finish," Abby said, her slight bouncing mimicking the tension in the room. "The hair belongs to Dr. Plassmann, but it still has the follicle attached."

"Meaning?" Gibbs said, his mind already working on finding Rebecca Donaghy.

"Meaning it likely didn't just fall out and land on the victim," Abby said.

"Why pull out your own hair and place it on the victim?" Ziva asked. "He wants to be caught?"

"What do you mean 'likely' didn't just fall out?" McGee asked.

"People shed like dogs all day long," Abby explained. "Sometimes the follicle stays attached, and sometimes it doesn't. But the point is that it could have been ripped out and planted."

"By who?" Gibbs asked.

"Who else knew Plassmann was a suspect?" McGee said, standing and joining the circle of his peers.

"Karras," Tony said, leaning against his desk and watching McGee wince as he took his first close look at his damaged face. "And Morgan," he added, seeing McGee tense.

"Are you saying she's a suspect?" McGee said, stepping forward into Tony's space.

Gibbs broke in with a low, "You lay another hand on him, Agent McGee, and I'll send you to Ducky, not the director."

McGee blinked in shock at the barely veiled threat. Tony just shook his head. "Chill, McGee, I was just answering your question."

"So the sealed file could be important or it could be nothing," Gibbs said. "And the hair could be important or it could be a diversion. What do we actually know?"

"That we need to find Rebecca," Tony said.

"McGee, go back to the safe house and relieve Woodson. Stay alert. He still wants her," Gibbs said. "Ziva, go pick up Plassmann. DiNozzo, you've got Karras. I'm going to see the SecNav."

***

"Morgan?" McGee called, entering the shabby living room of the safe house where he'd spent more time than his own home recently. "Agent Woodson?"

"Hey, McGee," Woodson said, coming from the kitchen. "She's asleep. Poor girl."

McGee just nodded as the agent left, and he went to where Morgan lay on the couch, curled on her side, streaks of dark makeup running down her face.

"Hey," he said softly, brushing her hair off her face. "I'm here, Morgan."

He pulled her into his arms and listened as she talked quietly. She was recounting the rape, something she'd done several times over the last few days. The recounting of events never varied, and McGee felt a flash of anger at Tony's insinuation. Like he had any idea of what the girl was going through—or what it was like to try to put the pieces back together.

Morgan stopped talking and looked down at where their hands were intertwined. She gave a little gasp and sat bolt upright.

"Morgan? What is it?"

"I remember…" she said, staring off into space. "I remember … the attacker … he …"

"Morgan?" McGee prompted when she trailed off.

She reached down and traced the faint scar on the back of McGee's hand. "He had a scar."

"On his hand?" McGee asked, wishing he didn't have to make her remember but knowing it was crucial that she did.

She shook her head.

"Where, Morgan?" McGee asked, wanting to touch her but afraid of chasing away the memory.

"His side," she said, snapping out of the past and coming firmly back into the present. "It looked like an old appendectomy scar. It was about three inches long on his right side."

"That's good, Morgan," McGee said, kissing her quickly on the cheek and pulling out his cell. He called both DiNozzo and Ziva and gave them the information. He quickly filled Morgan in on their progress.

She gave him a hopeful, fragile smile that broke his heart. "So you're going to get him? This will be over soon?"

"Really soon," McGee said, smiling back at her.

***

"Goddammit," Gibbs said into his phone. "Ziva just said the same thing. Plassmann is gone."

"We can't find the scar if we can't find either of them," DiNozzo said. "Any luck finding Rebecca?"

"No," Gibbs said, his frustration leaking into his voice. "Simply vanished. No one saw a damned thing."

"What do you want me to do, Boss?"

"Go join McGee," Gibb said. "I want two people with Kessler from now until we find this guy. Ziva's coming to help me with the search. Stay put until I tell you otherwise."

"Got it."

Tony snapped the phone shut and resisted the urge to toss it across the car he was driving. He pulled a U-turn and headed toward the safe house, wishing Morgan had remembered the scar when they'd had both suspects in sight. He sighed. It wasn't her fault, and he didn't blame her. He was still a little pissed at the way she was affecting McGee, but he knew it wasn't her fault. McGee made the choices he had made, not her.

He wished McGee had just listened to him when he told him to keep his head on straight. Tony caught sight of his bruised, swollen skin in the mirror, and a small smile touched his lips as he remembered Gibbs' less-than-subtle threat to kill McGee if he touched him again. It wasn't funny, really, but it did remind him that Gibbs always had his back.

He just hoped the lead agent could find Rebecca before she met the fates of the other young victims.

***

"Hey, Morgan?" McGee called from the kitchen to the bedroom. "You want anything to drink?"

He pulled two bottles of water out of the refrigerator even though he got no response.

"Morgan?" he called again, more loudly this time.

No answer.

_Shit._ He went to pull his gun only to realize he'd left it on the nightstand. He cursed himself for letting his guard down as he pulled a long knife from the butcher's block on the counter. He crept down the hallway, wondering where the hell DiNozzo was. He'd called to say he was on his way almost a half-hour ago.

_Maybe he's here and told her to be quiet, just to teach me a lesson_, he thought hopefully.

As humiliating as that would be, McGee wished fervently that it was the case. He'd take the thorough dressing down he'd receive if it meant Morgan was safe.

McGee had just passed the open bathroom door when he caught a blur of motion out of his left eye. Unfortunately, he also caught a blunt object to the head. His attacker stepped out of the shadows and smiled down at the unconscious agent.

***

Tony walked through the front door of the safe house with his instincts screaming at him. The place was dark and silent. As he flipped the switch to the living room lights, he realized he should have listened to his gut and called for backup before entering the house.

He took in the scene in a flash: Plassmann and Karras were holding guns on McGee's inert form, tied up and out cold on the floor; Rebecca Donaghy was also bound and unconscious on a sofa; and Morgan was nowhere in sight.

_Shit, _Tony thought, unknowingly mirroring his partner's earlier thoughts.

"Federal agent," DiNozzo barked, pulling his gun and aiming at the midpoint between the two suspects flanking McGee's unmoving—but breathing—body. "Drop the weapons."

Both men turned wide eyes on DiNozzo and started talking at once, the guns wavering in their hands.

"He made me do this!"

"He's crazy, please do something!"

"He killed all those women!"

"He's going to kill me if I don't do what he says!"

"No, _he's_ going to kill _me_ if I don't do what he says!"

_Shit was not a strong enough term for this_, DiNozzo thought, his gun swinging from one man to the other. Both looked equally frightened, and both men's hands were unsteady on the guns. Whichever was the killer was a hell of an actor. He wished Ziva or Gibbs were here—they'd interviewed these men, not him. He'd gotten "lucky" and got the undeniably innocent suspect.

He took a deep breath, a sudden scent hitting him with the force of freight train. It was the same scent that had been on the letter, and he finally latched on to the memory that had eluded him in the hallway outside Abby's lab.

_Incense._

Then he remembered Plassmann's hair had been found on the body. Maybe the incense was more misdirection. He had to be sure. The scar was the only way to be sure.

"Pull up your shirts, both of you," DiNozzo barked.

Plassmann looked confused, and Karras' face lost all traces of feigned fear. It was all DiNozzo needed to know who the real killer was.

Unfortunately, as he processed the looks, Karras had swung the gun in his direction and was pulling the trigger. DiNozzo dove for cover and felt a rush of air breathe against his temple. He landed with a thud behind the couch not occupied by Rebecca's unmoving form and heard another gunshot. His gut twisted as he peeked around from behind the sofa, fully expecting to see McGee with a bullet in his head.

Instead, he saw Plassmann stagger backward, dropping the obviously unloaded gun and pressing both hands to a wound in his abdomen. The gunfire had roused McGee, who was blinking slowly, trying to comprehend the situation.

DiNozzo ducked again as Karras fired wildly in his direction again.

"Come out or I'll shoot him," Karras said.

DiNozzo had no doubt he would, considering the bullet in Dr. Plassmann, and did as he was told. He kept the gun at his side, ready to take advantage of any slight distraction. He straightened, facing Karras, who was holding the gun on a barely conscious McGee. Tony could see blood running from a gash on the side of his partner's head and knew he wouldn't be providing any distractions anytime soon. He flicked his eyes to Plassmann, who was still putting pressure on his wound and watching the situation unfold with wide eyes clouded with pain.

"On your knees, Agent DiNozzo, and kick the gun over there," Karras said coldly. "Or I'll put one right through his head."

McGee swallowed hard, brought instantly more awake by Karras' words. He took in the situation, noting with panic that Morgan was not in the room and Rebecca Donaghy was unconscious on the couch.

"In that particular order?" Tony asked, his tone light but the look in his eyes adamantine. " 'Cause I think that's physically impossible."

Karras sneered. "The gun, Agent DiNozzo. Then get on your knees."

"Don't, Tony!" McGee cried. "Just shoot him."

DiNozzo kicked his gun away and dropped to his knees. "Shut up, Probie," he said calmly, without a trace of harshness.

"Hands behind your head."

DiNozzo locked eyes with McGee as he laced his fingers behind his head. "Let them go, Karras. The place is surrounded and you need only one hostage."

"Why the hell would I do that?"

DiNozzo tsk-tsked. "Real priests don't swear," he said—and got backhanded for his trouble.

The gun never wavered from McGee's head, and Tony swore silently as he licked at his split lip. None of his frustration, his fear for his friend's life showed when he said, "It's only a matter of time before my partner over there loses it and charges you."

"And I'll kill him if he tries," Karras said, waggling the gun suggestively.

"Think I'll stay on my knees if you do that?" DiNozzo asked, his voice dripping like an icicle.

"Your gun is all the way over there," Karras said, his hand still steady on the gun.

"Think I need a gun to kill you?" DiNozzo asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Karras finally blinked and turned the gun on DiNozzo, who saw McGee shudder. Karras moved and stood behind DiNozzo, nudging the agent's twined fingers down to his neck and pressing the gun to the back of his head.

DiNozzo's eyes stayed locked on McGee's wide ones. McGee didn't see an ounce of fear in the green gaze of the friend who had just offered his life to save his partner's. The weight of that hit him full-force in the chest, and he felt tears sting his bleary eyes.

"Get up slowly and leave, Agent McGee," Karras said.

"No fucking way," came McGee's immediate response, and he saw something like admiration flick through Tony's eyes.

Before Karras could respond, Morgan stepped from the hallway, McGee's gun from the nightstand held steadily in her hands.

"No one's going anywhere," she said coldly, a slight smile touching her bruised lips.


	16. Chapter 16

Tony looked up and locked eyes with the woman pointing a gun in his direction. He saw her smile fade.

"Adelphe," Karras whispered from behind him, and suddenly the pressure of the gun was gone from the back of his head.

"I hope there's a special place in hell for people like you, you son of a bitch," Morgan said—right before she expertly put a round through the priest's head.

There was a stunned silence, broken by the ringing of Tony's cell. He answered it automatically, watching Morgan quickly assess McGee's condition before kneeling beside Plassmann and pressing her hands over his wound.

_Gotta love Marines,_ he thought as he listened to Abby tell him the smell on the letter was incense.

"I know, Abbs. That's why Morgan just shot the priest."

***

"So it was never a name," Morgan said, sitting on McGee's desk in the squad room where the team had gathered. Theirs was the only team in the dimly lit room. "He wasn't calling me Adelle."

McGee held an ice pack to his newly stitched head. His eyes met Tony's for a second, and he knew they were both thinking about McGee's hands on Morgan's neck. "Nope," McGee said. " 'Adelphe' is Greek for sister. Karras is third-generation Greek, and his family still speaks the language."

Tony eyed the juvenile court file on his desk, unsealed thanks to a favor from a friend in the legal department. "Karras killed his sister when he was ten on Halloween night. Strangled her. The girl was just six, and both were being abused by their father, who was a priest."

"According to Dr. Plassmann," Ziva said, "who is going to be fine, by the way, Karras said he killed her to send her to God, where she would not suffer anymore."

"To him," Gibbs said, sipping coffee even though it was well past dark, "he was saving them."

"I buy that," Tony said, his words only slightly malformed by his puffy lip, "but only to a point. Not so altruistic that he was beating and raping them. Seems more like he was re-enacting his sister's life—and death."

"Should we be investigating the SecNav for abusing Rebecca?" Ziva asked.

"She fit the profile otherwise," Gibbs said. "She was raped a few years ago. It was a high-profile case, covered extensively by the media."

"Why did he dress them in the costumes?" McGee asked, his voice soft to ward off the massive headache he had from the concussion.

"Like I said, re-enacting his sister's death on Halloween," Tony said. He cocked his head thoughtfully. "I almost think he wanted us to stop him."

"That's why he chose Rebecca as a victim," Gibbs agreed. "High-profile rape case. Used the costumes and the descending ranks to lead us to her."

"Maybe he regretted killing his sister but could not stop himself from raping and killing," Ziva said. "So he wanted us to stop him."

"Bastard could have just turned his sorry ass in," Morgan said, breaking her silence. "Saved a lot of people a lot of pain."

There were nods all around the room.

"Including Dr. Plassmann," Ziva said. "Man gets framed for murder and shot by that murderer all in the same week."

"Did he say what he was doing at the safe house?" McGee asked.

Ziva nodded. "He felt bad for scaring Morgan in the interrogation room the other day, which had to have been when Karras got his hair to plant at the scene."

"Not surprising, in all the chaos that followed McGee's going all WWE Smackdown on the good doctor," Tony said, watching McGee blush bright red across his cheeks.

"My hero," Morgan said quietly and patted his hand. The blush rose to the tips of his ears.

"Plassmann contacted the friend who was bringing you your clothes, and she told him where it was." Ziva nodded in agreement with Gibbs' harrumph at that and continued. "Plassmann said Karras told him he followed him there after staking out his house. Karras was going to make it look like Plassmann killed Rebecca, Morgan and then himself."

"That doesn't jive with my 'he wanted to get caught' theory," Tony said around a wide yawn.

"Maybe he liked the challenge," Morgan said, remembering an earlier conversation and giving Tim a little smile.

"Either way," Tony said, "we should have known it had to be a killer priest in Halloween murders. It sounds like a movie."

"A really bad one," Morgan said.

Tony looked at her. "At least the good guys won in the end. I meant to ask, Morgan, how did you get untied from the bed?"

The Marine lifted a shoulder and was happy to find that it didn't hurt. She squeezed McGee's hand and knew she was going to okay—physically and otherwise.

"I always carry a knife."


	17. Chapter 17

Tony was leaning against McGee's car when the younger agent emerged from the building.

"How'd it go?" Tony asked, eyeing McGee's pale face and shaking hands and hoping for the best.

McGee just stopped and stared, not sure he could handle DiNozzo right then. Not after the meeting with Gibbs and the director about his relationship with Morgan—and the fallout of that relationship that had ended with a civilian getting shot.

Not to mention DiNozzo almost getting his head blown off.

McGee sighed. He knew his partner had downplayed that part in his report—and he also knew Gibbs knew that. How, he wasn't sure, because DiNozzo had been calm and collected since the standoff. Hell, DiNozzo had been calm and collected _during_ the standoff. McGee knew he would never forget the sight of Tony on his knees with a gun to the back of his head, a gun that had previously been trained on his own head.

"Did you see her?" McGee blurted. "Did you know she was in the hallway?"

"First things first, partner," Tony said, watching McGee shake and wishing he'd met the agent at his home. The NCIS parking lot wasn't exactly the place for McGee to have a meltdown. But from the wild-eyed look of him, he wasn't really in any shape to drive, either. "You are still my partner, right? You still have a job?"

McGee looked at the ground. "Yeah. Suspended for a month, without pay."

"Ouch," Tony said, though he was extremely relieved to hear he hadn't gotten fired. "Good thing Mr. Gemcity can pay the bills." McGee didn't respond so Tony said quietly, "It could have been a lot worse."

"He could have killed you, Tony," McGee yelled, tears in his eyes.

"He could have killed any one of us," Tony returned calmly.

"But you… Tony, you… I…"

McGee looked lost. Tony plucked the keys out of his hand and gently pushed McGee into his own passenger seat. He slid behind the wheel as McGee asked dully, "What about your car?"

Tony lifted a shoulder and started the car. "It'll be fine here. I'll get it later."

Tony drove toward McGee's apartment and tried not to worry too much about his silent, brooding partner. He didn't try to make conversation, and McGee was pathetically glad for it. Before he knew it, McGee was following Tony through the door of his own apartment, relieved to be home instead of at Tony's place. He needed to be surrounded by familiar things, and the first thing he did was walk to his typewriter and brush his fingers over the keys.

_Guess I'll have plenty of time to write_, he thought bitterly.

He wanted to thank Tony for his kindness but found himself saying instead, "You don't need to stay, Tony. I don't need a babysitter."

"How 'bout a friend?" came Tony's soft reply from over near the window.

McGee was glad Tony wasn't facing him as he blinked tears out of his eyes. He sank tiredly onto his couch and pressed his hands against his aching head, wincing when his fingers brushed over the fresh stitches behind his ear.

"You got any Tylenol?" Tony asked, drawing McGee's eyes up to his partner's bruised face. Tim felt sick that the damage he'd done joined with the split lip from Karras. "You must have one hell of headache, Tim."

McGee blinked. "I'm fine."

"Liar," Tony said simply, without malice, and disappeared down the hallway. He came back moments later with a glass of water and put it in Tim's hand along with a couple of painkillers.

McGee swallowed the pills and hoped they'd work quickly. He found himself wishing they'd take the fog that had nothing to with the concussion out of his head, too. "How's your face?"

"Fine. I've been hit harder," Tony paused. The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "By you."

"I'm so sorry, Tony," McGee said, burying his face in his hands again.

Tony saw his shoulders shaking and realized he should have kept his big mouth shut. "Hell, Tim, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I know you feel bad about what happened." Tony went and sat beside the younger agent, wondering if he should touch him and whether or not he was crying. He thought back to a time when he'd wondered what the hell he would do with a drunk Gibbs in his apartment. Right about now, he figured he was better equipped to handle that than a potentially sobbing McGee.

Tony put a hand on Tim's shoulder, felt the shuddering breath he took. "Tim, it's okay. Everything is going to work out. Serve your suspension, get your head clear. That's what it's for, you know. Spend some time with Morgan. You're good for her. Or don't, if you think it'll be too much. You're always welcome at my place if you get _that _desperate for company. And then, in a month, come back and do your job. You'll be fine."

McGee was dry-eyed when he looked up at Tony. "You didn't see him. The way he looked at me. The disappointment."

Tony didn't have to guess that McGee was talking about Gibbs. "You know how many times I've been on the receiving end of one of those looks?"

"I didn't throw a paperball at someone, Tony," McGee said, his voice ragged and strained. He put his hands to his forehead again, barely registering the warmth of DiNozzo's hand on his shoulder but somehow still glad for the contact. "I wasn't playing Tetris on the job. I almost got someone killed because I allowed myself to be distracted. It could have been Morgan who died because of me. Or Plassmann. Or the _SecNav's daughter_." He locked eyes with the senior agent. "Or you."

Tony's hand tightened on Tim's shoulder. "Technically, I almost got myself killed by running my mouth. You had nothing to do with that so don't even start blaming yourself for my actions. I made the decision to do what I did in there, and you know what? I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Tim's lip trembled and Tony thought he might finally give in to the tears shining brightly in his eyes. He didn't, though. He just asked again, "Did you see Morgan in the hallway? I need to know."

Tony debated for a fraction of a second, knowing full well he could pull off a lie. He didn't, though. "No. She was too far off to my right. If I'd have been able to see her, Karras would have, too, since he was behind me."

A shudder ran through Tim's body as the image of Tony on his knees flashed behind his closed eyelids.

"Then why, Tony? Why would you do what you did?" McGee's questions came out strangled with emotion.

"Look at me, Tim," Tony said softly, moving his hand from McGee's shoulder to his jaw. Tony fought not to react to the hollowness in his friend's eyes. "We're partners. Plain and simple. I did what I did because I thought it was our best chance of getting everyone out of there alive."

"But why would trade places with me after the way I've treated you?"

Tony had never heard McGee sound so broken. He struggled for something to say, but McGee just continued. "You saw what being with Morgan was doing to me, and you tried to help. And I hit you for it. So why the hell would trade your life for mine after all that?"

"I don't have a death wish," Tony said carefully. "I knew I had my backup, and I was just waiting for a chance to use it."

"And if he blew your brains out before you got that chance?" McGee asked, watching Tony flinch at his blunt choice of words.

Tony took a deep breath. "Well, then I'd really never have a chance of ever being as smart as you, McGoo."

McGee laughed despite himself. But he sobered quickly. "Really, Tony? This isn't funny."

"Nope, but no one died, you still have a job, and Plassmann is so glad he's still breathing and not being sent up the river as a serial killer that he won't even think of suing, if he even knows about your mistake, which I doubt he does. And I doubt Gibbs or the director will spill. Everything's gonna be fine."

"What about us?" McGee asked softly. "Are we okay?"

Tony laughed lightly. "Other than you creeping me out by sounding like you're my longest-lasting relationship ever? We're fine, Probie."

McGee smiled faintly. "Nah, Gibbs is your longest."

"Now that's scary," Tony said with a little shudder of his own. "You hungry?"

"You really don't have to stay."

"Um, you're forgetting something, McSymptom. You have a concussion. Someone's gotta wake you up every couple of hours so you don't McDie," Tony said. He sighed. "Aw, hell. The concussion. I really hope you remember this conversation in the morning, Probie. Because I sure as hell don't want to have to do this all over again."

"I will, Tony," McGee said, standing and following his partner into the kitchen. "McPromise."

* * *

**A/N: **And as Abby says in SWAK, that's all she wrote! Thanks to everyone who followed along, and a double-thanks with a cherry on top for everyone who reviewed. I love them all! A detailed review makes my day, all day and every time—no matter what that pesky thing called "real life" chooses to throw at me. I heart you all!


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